Hunted
by Bex-chan
Summary: Forced to work together when their old schoolmates start dying, Hermione & Draco must overcome their differences to solve the mysterious deaths. The tension in the office is getting rather...heated. Mature themes. 4years PostHogwarts/War. EWE. DMHG.
1. Changes

**HUNTED**

~*~

_**a/n**__: Okay so this is my first HP fic so excuse me if there's a few errors with characters etc. I also want to point out that this will not be a fluffy fic and my main goal is to keep the characters realistic and the progression of the romance between Draco and Hermione will be relatively slow. This is Post-Hogwarts and ignores the epilogue. Hope you enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer**: All chapters associated with 'Hunted' contain characters and themes which are not owned by me! Credit goes to JK Rowling, and the fact that this is on a site called surely implies that I am a FAN writing FICTION! If I did own Harry Potter, I would not be on here, I'd be off buying islands and diamonds. _

_~*~_

Chapter 1: Changes.

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He scowled at the young beauty in the bed next to him. She was facedown on one of her lilac pillows and he was pretty sure she was finally sleeping. Her matted hair covered her inevitable makeup-smudged face and he tried to lean forward a little to see if he could definitely establish that she was unconscious. Her breathing was heavy enough to convince him, but for all he knew she could be a light sleeper. He decided he would have to risk it. The sky was turning into that vile purple-blue colour that he despised and he wanted to get home.

He manoeuvred himself carefully on her bed, trying his hardest to remain silent. He released a breath he'd been holding once his feet were firmly placed on the woman's purple carpet. He gathered his scattered clothes and hastily dressed himself, occasionally looking over his shoulder at the silent woman. He smirked to himself as he fastened the final button of his green shirt. He was getting better at this sneaking out business. He reached for his perfectly polished shoes but one fell from his fist and landed with a harsh thud on her floor.

Draco's frown hardened as she stirred under her covers and he quickly retrieved his shoe and shoved it roughly on his foot. He heard her make some awful groan as she turned to face him and he did everything in his power not make eye contact with the woman. She offered him a sleepy smile but it was wasted on the blond man's rolling eyes.

"Where are you going?" The young woman seemed to think twice about reaching out and stroking his leg. She made the right decision in resisting.

"I have an early meeting," Draco muttered through his tense lips as he checked he had all his belongings.

"Okay," the girl sighed, briefly checking her clock and realising it was barely four in the morning. "You could go to work from here?"

"That's not a good idea," the young wizard argued, double checking his wand was in his robes. "I have things to do."

"Well," the blonde witch started hesitantly. "I don't mind if you do some work in the other room-

"Look," Draco finally turned to her, massaging his brow for a second. "Polly-

"Poppy," the girl corrected, glaring at him now.

"Whatever," Draco breathed, indifferent about his mistake. He checked for the third time that he had everything. He had no desire to return to this address and run into this woman again. He headed for her door, ignoring the woman's shocked gasp when he didn't even say goodbye.

He Apparated back to his home and collapsed on his couch with a grunt of frustration. That entire encounter had been a waste of his time. When had it become so difficult to get a decent fuck? He growled to himself and decided he would leave his shower for later on and get some work done. If his sex-life wasn't going so great he could at least make sure his career was satisfactory. Surely he was just in a rut. He doubted he could be bored of sex already. He was only twenty-two for Merlin's sake. No, not bored. Just tense. His body wasn't reacting as expected to the randoms he had bedded recently and his hand was getting used to providing a form of release. It wasn't the same but at least _he_ could finish the job. There was something very unsettling about the amount of Galleons he'd wasted on seducing meals and condoms.

He pushed his thoughts to the side and reached for his briefcase at the side of his couch. He removed his wand to undo his locking spell and carelessly threw some of the papers on his coffee-table. He shuffled through them, eyeing the familiar names with little thought. Despite the monotony of his job, he couldn't deny he felt a slight dose of satisfaction with how things had turned out.

The Ministry had been good to him, better than he would have anticipated four years ago. They had pretty much blackmailed him with his position to avoid time in Azkaban but it had worked in his favour. He was now deputy-head of the department. His job entailed supervising ex-convicts, particularly prisoners who had abused the Dark Arts. He and his team ensured that the prisoners were keeping to themselves after their time, and keeping clean of further illegal actions. Above anything else, the job came with a decent dose of secrecy, and he had successfully remained out of the public eye with only a few glitches. He was still, after all, the heir to one of the most famous families in the Wizarding World. But the ministry had managed to keep his profile fairly low-key. It was hardly a good idea to advertise to criminals who would be keeping an eye on them. Especially in Malfoy's case.

He knew this had initially been a tactic by the Ministry to abuse his knowledge of the Death Eaters he had once circled with, they had just never assumed he would have been so good at the task. The irony hadn't been lost on him. After his dabbling in dark magic, he was now working for the people he'd been so convinced were evil. At least now he could accept that he'd been an impressionable boy with a sharp-tongued father and a heavy helping of rebellion. But his father was long gone. And the young Malfoy had decided he was old enough to make his own decisions.

If someone had told him four years ago that this had transpired he would have hexed them for being an idiot.

"_Lumos,_" he muttered, skilfully clutching his wand.

He sighed as the familiar names stared back at him, many his old classmates or names he had heard from his days with Voldermort. He still cringed when he thought about it. But he was a professional now and he was satisfied that many of his companions from Hogwarts who had once entertained Voldermort's ideas had, like himself, managed to settle down into normal lives.

He'd bump into them occasionally and they would never discus the early days. Everyone seemed pretty determined to forgot what had happened, or at least banish it from conversation and he was content to follow that routine. Blaise Zabini was the only Slytherin he had kept in contact with from Hogwarts. The wizard was now well-established businessman with a small chain of Quidditch shops. But Malfoy still had his name on his list. And he knew he was on a list somewhere too.

A couple of hours passed and Draco decided he was satisfied with his notes. He contemplated trying to sneak a couple of hours sleep before work but decided it was hardly worth it. He could always have an early night when he finished work-

"Fuck," Draco snapped as he rubbed his eyes in irritation. He'd completely forgotten he was going to visit his mother after work. She'd been remodelling the Manor since the incidents four years ago, and more so after his father had died. Despite this she always insisted that Draco come and share his opinion on her work after she'd finished a room. Why she couldn't just wait until she had finished her entire project to invite him over to criticise the Manor was beyond him.

He decided that an hour's kip wasn't such a bad idea. He would need all the energy he could spare if his mother was in one of her excited moods. He hadn't seen her in just over a week, which meant she would be bubbling like a clumsy cauldron with mindless gossip.

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* * *

.

Draco Flooed to work that morning and immediately frowned at the chaos that surrounded him. It was hardly a rare occasion for the Ministry to be so hectic on a Monday morning but it still always managed irritate him. The place was centuries old for Merlin's sake! Surely they should have been used to odd revelations by now and built a level of organised immunity. But no! Here they all were. Running around like paranoid house-elves.

He headed to his office in the Improper Use of Magic department. The department had been expanded after the war and the Ministry had placed comparable Traces on previous Death Eaters and their associates. Although similar to the ones placed on underage wizards and witches, these were not so accurate but they helped to a certain extent. Mafalda Hopkirk was head of the larger department. The witch had immediately taken to her new task and seemed a little relieved to have some variation to rebellious wizard teens.

Draco pushed open the heavy doors and searched for his superior, noting with a little relief that the Offices here were a lot quieter. The department had less staff than the others and he was grateful for this, although the few that were wandering around the offices seemed agitated. He rolled his eyes when his secretary rose from her seat to greet him. The petite woman was always far too cheerful for his liking.

"Good morning Mr. Malfoy," the witch chirped merrily, although he noted she was less enthusiastic today.

"Tilly," Draco acknowledged her presence with a dull nod. "Could you have the Trace Reports on my desk once Shacklebolt sends them to you."

"Of course," the woman grinned politely as Draco walked into the solitude of his office. He noted that his usual coffee was waiting in its familiar place on his desk and he settled down his briefcase and took a claming gulp of the hot liquid. He took a seat at his expensive desk and started working on some the papers that had been left for him. He was barely alone twenty minutes when Mafalda entered his room without a knock, sporting her usual smart, mauve robes and a navy, tattered bag resting on her shoulder.

"Draco," the older woman forced a tight smile at her colleague. "How are you?"

"Fine," the wizard replied, tearing his eyes from his work to eye the older woman for a moment before he went back to his parchments. He still wasn't sure why the witch had taken such a liking to him, even when he'd first starting working for her. But he appreciated her acceptance and the old bat wasn't that bad, if a little nosy.

"You look like shit," the blonde woman commented, noting the bags under his eyes. "Rough night?"

"It could have gone better," Draco admitted, looking to a different page of his documents.

"I thought you might be a little agitated today," the witch confessed with a hint of concern. "This to do with the girl?"

"Am I that predictable?" Draco muttered, raising an eyebrow as he considered some information on his sheets.

"Well you knew her quite well," Mafalda offered her colleague a small smile. "It's only natural you should feel a little off."

"Knew her well?" Draco repeated, still refusing to meet the prying woman's eyes. "That's an overstatement."

"I though you went to Hogwarts with her?" The witch frowned at him, realising he had looked up at her with an obvious expression of confusion.

"I'm not following you," Draco told the woman warily, watching her now for an explanation.

"The girl who died yesterday." the witch repeated, as though he shouldn't need anymore explanation. Draco eyed the woman and shook his head, signalling his lack of knowledge on the matter. His superior sighed and took the seat on other side of his desk. "For Merlin's sake, Draco, you really should read _The Daily Prophet._"

"Who died?" Draco asked the witch, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Well 'died' is a little light, actually," the woman remarked as she reached into her bag. "Poor girl was murdered."

"Who was it?" Draco asked again, a little frustrated with the woman.

"Pansy Parkinson," Mafalda sighed as she handed Draco a copy of The Daily Prophet. "You knew her in school, didn't you?"

"Quite well," Draco agreed as he eyed the front page, which consisted of a picture of pansy and Ex-Dark Art Damsel Found Dead as its headline. "I haven't seen her in four years though."

His eyes skimmed over the article, noting that they had recalled the suspicion that she had been involved with Voldermort. The moving photo simply showed her laughing, and he realised she had only grown more beautiful since leaving school. They mentioned her 'grieving' husband, whose name he didn't recognise and included some details about her career as a healer before his eyes rested on one particular phrase. 'Marked with a V.'

"Like Dennis Creevy?" Draco's eyes shot back up to his superior as he tried to understand this new information.

"So it would seem," the witch nodded solemnly. "It was the killing curse again, and that V mark is identical-

"But Pansy was a pureblood," Draco interrupted her. "So this killer's not a Voldemort sympathiser?"

"No, the Ministry still believe the killer is," Mafalda revealed. "And I agree, that V mark is an obvious reference to the Dark Lord."

"But why would a sympathiser kill a pureblood?" Draco questioned, eyeing the article and noting that they had indeed mentioned the link with Creevy's death. "Surely it defeats the object."

"Parkinson was reformed," the witch offered him with a shrug. "A sympathiser would have seen her as a traitor to the Dark Lord-

"You know you can say Voldemort," Draco rolled his eyes at the woman and her annoying habit. "He's been dead for four years so I'm pretty sure you're safe."

"Point noted," the witch frowned, snatching back her newspaper. "The point is Creevy's murder wasn't random and even though we'd anticipated this, Pansy's murder dashes our theory that only muggle-borns would be targets."

"Fucking hell," Draco breathed as he reached for his file on Creevy's case.

"I'll need you to be very thorough with the Traces," Mafalda told him, her professional tone slipping into place.

"You know as well as I do they won't reveal anything," Draco growled in frustration. "If the wizard can cast the killing curse then they can definitely avoid the Trace-

"All the same," the witch eyed him, understanding his irritation. "Just be extra diligent when Shacklebolt delivers the files."

"Fine," the young Malfoy groaned, knowing his efforts would be in vain.

"The Ministry is warning all muggle-borns and reformed Death Eaters to be on alert," Mafalda explained as she adjusted herself in her seat. "I need you to get a list of all the ex-Death Eaters to Shacklebolt as soon as you can. There are potential victims and killers on that list."

"You realise I'm in that category," Draco reminded her with an unimpressed glance.

"Then I'm sure the Ministry want me to warn you to be careful," the witch grinned at him. "Don't worry Draco I'm sure you have proven yourself enough to not be a suspect-

"That wasn't my concern," Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Are any measures being taken for safety?"

"Come now, Malfoy," Mafalda regarded him with a hint of amusement. "You are a perfectly capable wizard-

"And from what I recall, so was Pansy," Draco remarked honestly.

"All I know is that the Aurors are involved," the witch told him with another shrug. "And a few who were on foreign business have been called back."

"That means Potter will be returning then," Draco groaned in realisation. He very rarely saw Aurors anyway as the departments tended to keep to themselves but he'd been rather pleased knowing his old nemesis was in another country. He doubted the rivalry between them would ever completely simmer, and he hadn't seen Potter in four years to understand how Potter thought about him now. He didn't particularly care but he figured, with a smirk, it would be an interesting experience.

"Yes, Harry Potter was mentioned," Mafalda seemed to be recalling her earlier discussion with Shacklebolt. "And his friend should be returning too."

"Brilliant," Draco rolled his eyes at that information. "There are too many bloody Weasleys in London."

"No, not Weasley," Mafalda shook her head, closing her eyes as she tried to concentrate on her memory of the meeting. "The girl."

"Granger?" Draco confirmed, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise. "I didn't know she was an Auror."

"Yes," the witch nodded. "She's been here a few times but she's been doing a lot of research work for the Ministry in Europe."

"Well the research bit certainly makes more sense," Draco commented as he recalled the bookworm from his Hogwarts days. "That girl had a love affair with books. Never thought she'd turn into an Auror."

"She's a very good one apparently," Mafalda revealed with a thoughtful grin. "But from what I hear the woman does take a more studious approach to her job that the others."

"She's a muggle-born," Draco commented with a lowered brow. He remembered a time when the word 'Mudblood' would have so easily passed his lips. "Doesn't it seem a little counter-productive to bring her back when there's a sympathiser wandering around London?"

"Well from what I can gather, the Ministry are concerned about her," Mafalda lowered her tone a little. "She is possibly the most famous Muggle-born after her participation in the war and they think she's at a high risk. Same for Potter seeing as he killed Voldermort-

"So why the hell bring them back to the country?" Draco questioned, genuinely confused by the Ministry's reasoning.

"There's more protection here," Mafalda rolled her eyes at her colleague's ignorance. "Plus there have been a few attacks on Muggle-borns and ex-Death Eaters outside of London in the past few months and the Ministry thinks they could be linked. I think there was one in Berlin-

"Attacks?" Malfoy repeated. "I don't remember any attacks."

"Only the Aurors were informed," Mafalda explained with a small pout of disagreement. "I'm not really sure what the reasoning was behind that."

"I see," Draco mulled over this new data in his mind. "Anything else?"

"Well the Ministry implied that the Aurors might be doing some work with us," the witch revealed with a shrug. "But that's hardly new, you've worked with a few of them before. But apart from that I don't really know much more."

"Right," Draco nodded, resting his chin against the back on his hand.

"I'll leave you to it," Mafalda rose from her seat. "Make sure you check those Traces meticulously, Draco. And do some research on what the Death Eaters have been doing in the past few months. You'll also be receiving a list of Muggle-borns who were active against the Dark Lord to try and establish any connection. It's going to be a busy time for us."

"Joy," Draco sighed sarcastically as he went back to his earlier paperwork. Mafalda left him alone for the rest of the day as he, as asked, carefully examined the Traces once they were given to him. He worked an hour longer than he'd planned to, double-checking that there really wasn't anything he could comment on that could indicate anything of relevance.

At seven in the evening he'd decided that there was little more he could do and Flooed to Malfoy Manor. He had noted more with each visit that his former home was eerily quiet these days, despite his mother's countless visitors. He found her alone in the drawing room, waving her wand to raise some pictures on her new mint-coloured walls.

"You're a little late," Narcissa commented when she spotted her son.

"Busy day at the Ministry," Draco commented as he took a seat on one if his mother's new couches.

"Yes I read about your friend," the witch admitted with a grave tone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Draco rolled his eyes. "I hadn't spoken to Pansy in years-

"I know, but still," Narcissa frowned at her son's stoic face. "It must have been a bit of a shock."

"I was a little surprised," Draco reluctantly admitted. "I guess you read about the Ministry thinking there is a Voldemort sympathiser possibly targeting muggle-borns and old Death Eaters too?"

"I did," the witch confirmed, pausing when her son gave her a strange look. "What?"

"You be careful," the younger Malfoy warned his mother. "Our name is probably the most famous when you think of ex-Death Eaters and you're not very good at keeping a low profile, mother."

"Yes," his mother nodded in agreement. "Rita and a few of her friends helped me set up some extra wards on the house but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. This isn't the first Voldemort sympathiser and the Ministry have been good with these kind of things in the past-

"Still, just keep an eye out," Draco told his mother, wondering why the hell she would trust that vile Rita Skeeter with her protection. He would put up a few extra wards himself before he left. "What the fuck was Rita doing here?"

"Language, Draco," Narcissa scolded her son with little force. "And she popped round to fill me in on the Pansy incident."

Draco fought hard not to make another derogatory comment about his mother's choice of companion. At least she'd had some company. He had a feeling Snape would be making a visit soon also to ensure his mother was well-protected. The man had surprisingly stayed in contact with his family since the war and he was quite grateful for that. If nothing else because he was a capable wizard and was one of the few men who hadn't tried to jump into his mother's trousers since his father had died. His obsession with Potter's mother seemed to be an eternal issue for the strange man.

"Go on then," Draco grinned as his mother almost tripped over a box on the floor. "Tell me all your gossip, I know you're dying to."

"Well I'm actually a little low on news," Narcissa admitted with a sad sigh. "Although I do know that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are returning to London soon."

"I already know that," Draco smirked at his little victory. "The Ministry think they'll be safer here."

"They're probably right," his mother nodded.

"I don't suppose you know why Weasley's not included in their little trip back to London?" Draco questioned his mother, ever curious about the favourite trio from Hogwarts. It was times like these he was pleased his mother had an esteemed place in the wizard-gossip world.

"He's not an Auror," his mother offered simply. "Last I heard he was working for his brother with the dragons. Weasley was hardly the brightest boy. I think I would have more chance of becoming an Auror."

"And what have the other two been doing?" Draco asked absentmindedly, conjuring a beer and taking a light sip.

"Well Harry got involved with the Weasley sister but I forget her name," his mother frowned as she tried to recall. "And Hermione has just been all over Europe from what I can gather, working for the Ministry. She's still a complete bookworm from what I hear, although someone did tell me she's come into her own."

"What?" Draco asked his mother, not really sure what she meant by that statement.

"She's a bit of a looker now, apparently," the Malfoy female elaborated. "But I heard all this a while ago when she was on one of her visits to the Ministry, no one has really seen her for a year or so."

"You remember gossip from a year ago?" Draco asked his mother with an unsure look on his face.

"Well you tend to remember the details of people who were tortured in your house," Narscissa rose her brow at her son, and he knew to drop the subject. It was still an awkward topic for his mother, and he had no desire to broach the subject either. "Why are you so interested in them?" His mother quirked an eyebrow at her son.

"Mafalda mentioned that they might be involved on the case," the blond described. "Which means I might be working with Potter."

"Well that will end in tears," Narcissa commented with a smile. "I know you've changed and everything, Draco, but you two are never going to get along. And didn't you bully the girl in Hogwarts too? I will never forgive your father for introducing you to that horrible word you used to call her-

"I was a kid," Draco justified his actions with a defensive snort. "You were hardly an angel."

"Point taken," his mother nodded "But I did save Potter's life."

"I may have to remind him of that if things turn a little sour," Draco creased his brow in thought. "I don't think he'll be as accepting as the Ministry-

"Well just remain professional and mature," his mother advised him with uncharacteristic wisdom. "You owe the Ministry that much. And don't turn back into the brat you were in school."

"Well it might not even happen," Draco reminded his mother. "Although I am a little curious about the repercussions if it did. I doubt Potter is in love with the idea-

"Speaking of love," his mother started with a mischievous grin. "How did your date go with Poppy? Isn't she lovely? I'm such a good matchmaker-

"Not going to happen," Draco stopped his mother's self-praising rant. "She's dull and irritating. The bitch wouldn't shut up about her job at _Wicked Witches._ I've never even heard about that magazine-

"Well it's a good one," his mother frowned. "And don't call her a bitch, Draco. She was a decent young lady."

"She was a waste of my time and money," Draco informed his mother. "Her only purpose was to serve as further proof that your matchmaking skills are fucking awful-

"Language," his mother reprimanded him again, her tone lower this time. "Did you at least give her a chance?"

"It took me less than ten minutes to know the woman was going to be a bore," Draco informed his mother with an agitated expression.

"There must have been something you liked about her?" Narcissa eyed her son hopefully and he couldn't stop the smirk that stole his lips.

"Well," Malfoy started as he leant back a little further in the couch. "She could do the cool thing with her tongue-

"Draco!" His mother instantly felt a flush rise in her cheeks. "That's quite enough! Merlin, you can be so crude!"

"You asked," Draco told her with a shrug as he finished off his beer and rose from his seat. He rose from his seat and offered his mother a small peck on the cheek.

"You're leaving already?" Narcissa asked sadly, always reluctant to see her son leave.

"Things are hectic at the Ministry at the moment," Draco explained, setting up a few extra wards while his mother waited. To be fair to Rita, the wards seemed quite stable so he only did a couple of adjustments. "Plus I didn't get much sleep last night and that's technically your fault."

"Draco, don't make a mother smack her twenty-two-year-old son," Narcissa cringed at her only child's words. "I'll owl you tomorrow."

"Fine," the young wizard nodded at his mother as he headed back to the fireplace in the other room. "Be careful."

With that said, the young Malfoy Flooed to his home and went straight to his room to catch up on his deprived sleep. He knew his next few weeks at work would most likely involve a few late nights and he was going to indulge in as much sleep as he possibly could. He considered his possible tasks for tomorrow and also wondered when exactly Potter and his little friend would make an appearance at the Ministry. Mafalda had never specified when they would be back in London and he couldn't dent his curiosity about his old rival. His new opinions and life after the war had come with a higher tolerance but he had a feeling Potter would be exempt from that. Some things never changed.

.

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a/n: How did I do…be nice please…? Also for those of you who read my DBZ fanfics please do not worry I am working on chapters for both Forbidden and Release Me which will be up soon…I just had to get this idea down! Please R+R! Wondering how I peg as a HP writer so feedback would be nice and much appreciated!!

Bex-chan


	2. Meetings

**HUNTED**

~*~

Chapter 2: Meetings

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Draco had anticipated that the Ministry would be busy for the remainder of the week, but when another murder occurred on the Friday, everything seemed to go into overload. Theodore Nott was found with the similar _V_ carved into his chest on the Friday morning. The man had been on his way to his job as a Quidditch coach for younger wizards when he'd been struck with the killing curse. It had somehow been carried out with no witnesses down one of the alleys branching off Knocktern Alley. It had been around six in the morning, and the streets had been quiet, but not for long. The press had practically orgasmed and were currently forming a small army outside the Ministry with enough questions to fluster a pit of solicitors.

Draco had already seen Shacklebolt indulging in a premature Firewhiskey to settle his nerves. The pressure on the Ministry was almost heavy enough to drown the man and the young Malfoy had audibly growled when he'd seen the tower of parchments waiting on his desk. Draco had only taken ten minutes to himself in the day to owl his mother and Blaise, warning them to be alert and contact him if anything seemed slightly off. He could always hide them out in his office if it was necessary. He had demanded that they both stock up on extra Floo powder and constantly check the wards on their homes. From what he could gather Pansy and Creevy, both seemingly careless, hadn't bothered with wards, and Nott had been killed on a street so he'd reasoned that perhaps they could work. He'd been working a steady five hours when a knock interrupted his thoughts.

"_Alohomora,"_ Draco muttered, knowing it would be Mafalda checking his progress. He didn't even bother removing his eyes from his documents as the woman's familiar high-heels snapped into his office. "What is it, Mafalda?"

"You need to have some lunch," the old witch told him with more force than concern. "Why don't you work on some of the under-age wizard cases to have a break from all this-

"You know I can't stand dealing with teenage morons," Draco scowled at the woman. He very rarely helped her with that side of the department and he had no intention of altering his work.

"All the same," Mafalda continued, eyeing the younger man sternly. "I think you should eat something."

"Noted," Draco rolled his eyes at her prolonged intrusion. "But I have to get these finished for Shacklebolt before I leave-

"No you don't," the witch argued, tucking one of her greying strands behind her ear. "You can work on these over the weekend and bring them in on Monday."

"I'm fine," Draco told the woman squarely. "How are you getting on with your files?"

"It's a slow process," the woman admitted with a sigh as she collapsed in his chair. "I had to forward some stuff to the Department of Magical Transportation. They're having a slow week so I managed to convince a few of them to give us a hand."

"Was that wise?" Draco questioned, eyeing the witch curiously. "They seem a bit incapable over there."

"It's nothing too difficult," Mafalda assured him. "It's mainly just organising the paperwork."

"Your call," Draco conceded, hoping that would be the end of their discussion. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes," the older witch started hesitantly. "Harry Potter will be joining us on Monday and we'll be having a meeting with him and Shacklebolt."

"Right," the blond wizard nodded, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Well I know that you two have a … colourful history," Mafalda pointed out the obvious with an awkwardness to her tone. "Shacklebolt told me to warn you to be behave yourself-

"I'm perfectly old enough to act professionally," Draco reminded her, his voice showing his offence at her doubt. "I'm a lot more mature than you give me credit for-

"I have no doubt that you are a responsible adult," Mafalda argued her young colleague. "It was simply a message that Shacklebolt asked me to pass on."

"Fine," the Malfoy heir sighed, suddenly resenting Shacklebolt for his lack of faith in his professionalism.

"Also," the witch resumed, watching his face closely to see if he was listening. "If the Ministry decides that the Aurors will be working on the case with us then it will be you who deals with them mostly. I have enough on my plate, and as my deputy-head-

"I figured that would be the case," Draco admitted with a shrug, and he eyed the witch with a stoic expression. "Don't worry, Mafalda. I'll play nice with Potter."

"Well you might not have to," his colleague offered with a smile. "Shacklebolt will decide after the meeting on Monday. I'd just suggest you do some preparation about your work for the meeting."

"Will do," Draco affirmed with a nod. "Can I get on with my work now?"

"Of course," Mafalda nodded before she got up and left him alone. Draco released the groan he'd been suppressing and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his silver eyes with his palms and sucked in some air rough his tense lips. As if dealing with his increasing workload wasn't pressing enough, now he had to deal with a meeting with Potter. He could already feel the tension building his neck as he considered it. He smirked to himself though, knowing if nothing else it would be an entertaining experience. He was pretty certain he would be able keep his competitive remarks to a minimum, but then he was hardly known for keeping his temper controlled. And Potter himself had lost his own temper quite a few times if he recalled correctly. Then again, he had changed substantially in four years, it was probable wonder-boy had too.

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* * *

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Draco's weekend had been submerged in a mist of work, but he had at least managed a decent amount of sleep. He had had a brief visit from Blaise on the Sunday and the pair of Slytherins had discussed the morbid events of the last few weeks and then had a decent chuckle about Draco's impending meeting with the Gryffindor golden-boy. Blaise had cackled like it was Christmas and had begged Draco to somehow magically record the meeting so he could watch, what was guaranteed to be, a very amusing spectacle. They had only shared a couple of drinks when the Malfoy had sent the Zabini home so he could continue his work. If he had to waste a couple of hours at a meeting then he wanted to get a head start on his tasks for Monday.

When he Flooed to work the next day, the Ministry was twice as bad as it had been on Friday. There were more parasite-press trying to break in, desperate to have words with Potter and get more information on the murders. Inside the departments, the witches and wizards were scurrying around like testy insects, all trying impress the-boy-who-lived while still coping with their extra work concerning the killings. The pureblood wizard rolled his eyes at his colleagues as they flitted around like mindless morons with more pace than sense.

They formed an obstacle course to Mafalda's office and after crashing into a few wizards he realised he would probably be a couple of minutes late, which put him in a very foul mood. When he burst into Mafalda's room without knocking she eyed him with a forced impatience.

"Don't start," Draco warned the woman as he took one of the free seats around her table. He noted that only Shacklebolt was with them and he wondered where Potter was.

"Good morning, Draco," Shacklebolt sighed, and Draco noted how weary the man looked. The Voldermort sympathiser was clearly having an exhausting effect on the wizard. "Harry Potter should be here in a moment."

The blond contemplated a sarcastic comment about his old rival but decided against it. It was too early for his wit to be at its best. He blanked out his two older colleagues as they started some small-talk about the audacity of the press. He reminded himself to ask his mother what Rita Skeeter had uncovered about the case, and also remind his mother that anything he told her had to remain secret from the bitch, although it had never really mattered. Skeeter always managed to find out first. They only had to wait a few extra moments before Potter finally joined them and Draco couldn't help but stare at his Hogwarts enemy. He noted first that the man's glasses had disappeared and his hair was more tamed than it had been the last time he'd seen him. Aside from that, not much had changed and Draco tried his hardest not to note the wizard's scruffy, navy robes and comment on them. The Auror had more than enough money to afford some decent clothes.

"Potter," Shacklebolt welcomed the celebrity with a wide smile. "Take a seat and we'll get this started."

"Thank you," the wizard replied, taking the furthest seat possible away from Draco, which did not go unnoticed by the blond. "Sorry I'm late, it's a little hectic out there."

"Indeed," the Minister for Magic sighed. "I won't be present for the whole of this meeting. I have to deal with the chaos outside."

"Good luck," Draco breathed, shuffling through some his notes.

"Quite," the oldest wizard agreed, suddenly very aware of the tension between the two young males. "I'll say my piece and then I shall be on my way. I am simply here to remind you that despite your previous quarrels I expect decorum should I decide you will be helping each other with the case. I have enough problems here without having to concern myself with a revived rivalry between you two."

Draco nodded in understanding at the man's words while Potter remained completely still. Mafalda eyed Draco for a moment with a smile tugging at her lips and Shacklebolt simply continued, hoping his words would have some effect on the two wizards.

"We have more pressing issues than your pasts," Shacklebolt resumed his little lecture, rubbing his dark hands together. "This has been prioritised in all departments but particularly yours and I will accept nothing but professionalism on your both your parts. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, offering the older wizard a brief grin.

"Sure," Draco exhaled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs.

"Good," the Minister smiled, rising from his seat and leaving the other three wizards in a suspended silence. Mafalda's eyes darted between the two warily as the silence grew painful.

"Right," the witch started slowly, frowning when both males still refused to speak. "Draco why don't you inform Harry what we've been working on-

"That isn't necessary," Harry stopped the woman. "If our departments are allowed to work together then it will be Hermione working on the case with you. This is more her comfort zone than mine."

"Granger?" Draco confirmed, allowing his confusion to show.

"Yes," Potter nodded, his face turning serious for a second. "And if I hear that you have even muttered the word 'Mudblood' then I-

"Mr. Potter," Mafalda interrupted before Draco could. "I can assure you that Draco's previous prejudices are gone. And I don't care if your trying to make a point, you will not use that word inside the Ministry."

"I think you should tell him that," Potter argued the witch, and Draco eyed the woman with hidden gratitude for jumping to his defence.

"Well I have complete faith that Draco will be nothing but professional with Miss Granger," Mafalda continued, looking to Draco of some kind of input.

"Why are you putting Granger on this case, Potter?" Draco questioned, trying not let his distaste for the other wizard show.

"You know she's the clever one," Harry shrugged, although there was still some threat behind his words. "And there seems to be a great deal of research involved which would suit her just fine."

"There is," Draco confirmed with a slight nod. "So why isn't she here instead of you?"

"She got held up with something else," Harry explained, still eyeing his rival warily. "She'll be here tomorrow to meet with you but she told me to ask if you would owl her some of your notes so she could get started."

"I'll do that after this meeting," Malfoy agreed, making a few extra notes on a particular page.

"And I meant what I said, Malfoy," Harry stated in a low tone, locking eyes with his old nemesis. "If you give her any trouble, I will-

"I have no intention of giving Granger any grief," Draco rolled his eyes at the dark-haired wizard. He wasn't in the mood for Potter's pathetic threats. "And I'm sure if I did she would be capable of defending herself."

"She is definitely capable," Harry agreed. "I think myself and the some the other Aurors will be taking a different approach and we've discussed trying to track the killer. I know Hermione would much rather handle the intellectual side of this. I'm also aware that she's a muggle-born so I think it's best she stay as close to the Ministry as possible considering the circumstances."

"You don't think you're at risk Mr. Potter?" Mafalda asked him, resting her chin her hand.

"Everyone who was attacked or has been killed has been a muggle-born or a Death Eater," Harry reminded the other two occupants of the office. "I don't think this is leading to a war, I think the killer is just trying to get the point across-

"Well then surely killing you would be the best way to do that," Draco responded coldly. "You honestly don't think you're at risk, Potter?"

"No," the young wizard shook his head. "The killer seems to be sticking to the two categories and I will constantly be on the move anyway with some of the others. I also need to tell you that the Auror Office received a letter this morning, that we think, was from the killer."

Draco's eyes widened at that statement. Why didn't they know about that?

"What did it say?" Mafalda pushed Potter for information.

"Not much," Harry admitted. "It was pretty much a little rant about Death Eaters being traitors and muggle-borns polluting our world. Shacklebolt told me to keep it in the Auror Office until the end of the meeting, just in case one of the papers got wind of it."

"I'm going to need a copy of that letter," Draco demanded, evidently pissed off that it had been kept from him.

"Alright," Harry still eyed Draco warily.

"Is there anything else your department have kept from us?" Draco asked, not hiding his irritation with the secrecy.

"Hermione has the full details of the attacks that took place before Creevy's murder," Harry provided. "Apart from that there is nothing else."

"Good to know," Mafalda sighed, jotting down some notes. "Draco, is there anything you'd like to add?"

"No," Draco answered simply, eyeing the man across the table with returning notions of dislike.

"Okay, then I think we can leave it at that," Mafalda smiled, rising from her seat to shake Potter's hand. "Thank you, Harry."

"Your welcome," the wizard smiled at the woman, before his lips formed back into a straight line as his eyes landed on Draco. "Hermione will come see you at some point tomorrow to start dealing with this. Do not take my earlier comments lightly, Malfoy." Harry didn't say anything else as he made a quick exit out of the witch's office and left the two colleagues to their business.

"Well, that was tense," Mafalda commented to her companion with a frown as she settled back in her chair. "But I do appreciate your composure, Draco. He was out of line with some of his words."

"I can't believe we weren't informed about that letter," Draco muttered, evidently annoyed.

"Yes, I will have to ask Kingsley about that," Mafalda promised, and Draco noticed for the first time that the woman only referred to the Minister's first name when she was a little agitated with him.

"I forgot how much Potter irritated me," the young blond commented. "He always was a few steps behind when it came to maturity."

"Well at least you don't have to work with him," Mafalda reminded him. "I've met Hermione a couple of times and she's a very reasonable-

"You don't understand," Draco chuckled to himself. "If there was one person who hated me more than Potter, it was Granger."

"Well she sounds bright enough," the witch shrugged. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"I suppose it could have been worse," Draco remarked as he rose from his seat. "It could have been Weasley."

.

* * *

.

After owling some documents for Granger, Draco had immediately marched over to the Auror Office and demanded a copy of the letter after being told that the original was being checked for the obvious spells and charms. It was pretty much a given that the sender would have used a charm to disguise their writing. It was only after a rather dull and unnecessary talk with Shacklebolt that Draco was permitted a replica of the letter's contents and he had waited until he was safely in his office before he had studied the parchment. He cast the imperturbable charm on his door before he started to read the letter.

_To whom it may concern, __I'm glad that the Ministry aren't a complete waste of time and have successfully guessed my intentions. The Death Eaters should have either been sent to Azkaban or died for their cause but the traitors are trying to live normal lives after betraying the Dark Lord. It just won't do. This is allowing more Mudbloods into our world, so I have decided to take the pest-control into my own hands. Whilst I'm sure you will be disgusted by my methods I know that you are secretly grateful for my cleansing. I am simply doing what must be done. However, if you think for one moment this will make it easier to catch me, then you are mistaken. __You will hear from me again soon. _

"Pleasant little fucker aren't you?" Draco muttered to himself, putting the letter to one side with an agitated snarl.

There was nothing there, no telling grammatical errors or interesting phrases that could possibly distinguish the writer's district or the hereditary traits of some families who believed in the pureblood superiority complex. Just like his family. It was short and sweet, confirming some suspicions about the motives behind the murders, but otherwise extremely vague and frustrating. Draco had expected some subconscious hints at the very least, but there was nothing. Hell, it could have been written by anyone for some foolish kick.

The letter hadn't even been signed by an alias, something mocking criminals often did in his experience just to get that extra little sip of superiority. More often than not it was the aliases that gave them away, and Draco silently appreciated the intelligence behind the lack of a signature. Five years ago he would have been shaking this person's hand for the motivation behind the tasks, and a small part of him wondered if any of his old thoughts about blood superiority were a little teased by the letter's section on muggle-borns. He was pretty positive those notions had dissipated quite a while ago but he couldn't help but imagine his seventeen-year-old self having a hearty chuckle at the words in the letter.

But he was simply frustrated with it, rereading the words until he could almost remember them. It was odd though. The killer had confessed what they'd suspected. He had told them who the targets were, and yet Draco didn't feel threatened at all. Call it denial or arrogance but the Malfoy heir knew he was a bloody good wizard and his time at the Ministry provided him with protection. No, he wasn't concerned for himself. He was a little anxious about his mother and even Blaise but more than anything he was just angry that he was getting nowhere with this. If there was one thing Draco still had in common with his younger self, it was his competitive nature.

He hated losing, and he knew he always would. It wasn't an option. It was a family trait and, he reluctantly admitted, was probably the main reason him and his family had switched sides in the war. Malfoy's were never beaten. Only when his family realised that the Dark Lord was losing did they decide to join Potter and his team of do-gooders.

Of course it had all worked out well in the end and he'd never once regretted that decision to abandon Voldermort. If anything he regretted his seventh year at Hogwarts and how easily manipulated he'd been, although he would never admit that to anyone who dared to ask. But at least the events had encouraged Draco to think for himself now. That combined with an Azkaban threat had certainly kicked his arse into gear.

He went home with a lot of tension in his back and neck and had managed to sort himself out with a quick date for the evening. The half-blood was an attractive witch with loose morals and a looser skirt. Perfect for releasing some frustration. The woman had, however, been rather insatiable, meaning he'd only managed to escape her house at five in the morning. All his attempts to regain a decent sleeping pattern went to hell and he knew he'd have to wait until the weekend to try and get it back on track. And of course, his little sex-session had made him late for work.

He woke up ten minutes before he was due to start and by the time he had gotten ready and gathered all his work for his meeting with Granger, he was twenty minutes late. When he Flooed to work he knew he'd probably forgotten something and he cursed to himself all the way to his office. He didn't even acknowledge his secretary, and Tilly wisely decided not to bombard him with cheerful welcomes once she saw how agitated he was.

"Just send her in when she comes," Draco muttered as he passed her desk, knowing Tilly had been informed about his meeting. He didn't wait for a confirmation that she'd heard what he'd said and threw his briefcase with a huff of fury by his desk once inside his room. He used magic to quickly sort some of the mess in his office after his activities with the letter yesterday. He opened his briefcase and started organising some of his paperwork when he realised something.

His expected guest was late. Hermione fucking-perfection Granger was late. And for some reason he acknowledged that he'd been somewhat…curious about this meeting. Not anxious mind, just a little uneasy. It wasn't a desire of his to show the witch he'd changed mind you. No. It was more that the last thing he wanted was to come across like his younger self. The last thing he needed was the muggle-born thinking he was the same arrogant and prejudiced prick he'd been back then. They needed to work together, and she'd probably be reluctant enough without him looking unorganised. And he certainly didn't want to prove Potter right by looking like an idiot on their first meeting.

But it was her who was absent. It was her who had decided that this meeting wasn't important enough to show up on time. The former victim of his skilful bullying at Hogwarts was not in his office for whatever reason. The thought had barely left a mark on his memory when he heard three loud knocks on his door. He raked his angry fingers through his light hair, untamed by his normal products due to his rushed morning.

"Come in," he growled impatiently, wondering if it had been loud enough for her to hear. He turned his back to the door and went back to sorting a few of his papers as he heard the door open.

"Draco," he heard a familiar voice and he rose an eyebrow when he realised it was Mafalda who was disturbing his peace.

"What are you doing here?" He asked the witch with his eyebrow still high.

"I just thought I'd let you know Miss Granger is going to be a bit late-

"I had noticed," Draco responded with a snort.

"Is there a reason you're so snappy today?" Mafalda asked him, knowing he wouldn't respond. "If I was you I'd try and calm yourself a little before she arrives-

"When exactly will she be arriving?" Draco questioned, using his wand to arrange the rest of his notes.

"I'm not sure," the old witch replied with a shrug. "I'll leave you to it."

Draco simply nodded and his eyes went down to his work, listening for the door to know she's left. He hadn't been alone two minutes when he heard it open again and he released an irritated breath as he continued to go over his work.

"Were you planning on disturbing me a lot today?" Draco asked, who he assumed was Mafalda, and he refused to raise his eyes from his desk.

"Well if it was up to me I wouldn't be here in the first place," a controlled and feminine tone answered him.

Draco's head snapped up to register the witch just closing his door behind her and he caught his surprise before it could register on his face. His breath still gathered in his throat though, and he forced out a cough to avoid any betraying noises. His face formed into a quick mask of indifference, almost a defensive mechanism.

"Granger," he nodded towards her as she neared his desk. Some aristocratic whisper at the back of his brain told him to politely rise from his seat but he quickly disregarded it. Instead he just eyed her with suppressed memories of his taunts at Hogwarts and watched the witch before him with silent notions of disbelief. Fuck, she had changed. A lot. He was still waiting for her to speak, and he contemplated repeating her surname in case she hadn't heard him. But the frown on her lips twitched a little and he locked his lips together to let her respond. Her mouth opened a little, and her lower lip quivered slightly, and he realised it was due to nerves. He didn't care though, he just needed her to speak. The silence was uncomfortable enough, and the longer it stretched, the heavier it felt. Her tongue jerked inside her mouth and he silently thanked Merlin that she was going to break the quiet.

"Malfoy," she breathed finally and she eyed him with that familiar intolerance he'd seen so often at Hogwarts. "Long time, no see."

.

* * *

.

**a/n: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please Read and Review because I'm other nervous about this fic and I'd like to get some feedback as it's my first HP fic! And I hope that I'm just doing an okay job! Also I realise that Snape died in the book but I want him to be alive for this so for the sake of this fic he's alive and well! Thanks for your time!

Bex-chan


	3. Arguments

**HUNTED**

~*~

Chapter 3: Arguments

.

Draco eyed the woman before him with a lot of thoughts running through his head. He analyzed her muggle attire, consisting of a tight, navy skirt, a long-sleeved, cream blouse and small patent heels. He thought back to those unflattering jeans and sweaters she had always worn in Hogwarts and decided that she had subscribed to some of those awful fashion magazines his mother worshiped. Still, the look was certainly an improvement. Her travels in Europe had had an obvious effect on her appearance, and he noted her hair was a little lighter, and her skin had a sun-stained glow.

The effects of puberty, although somewhat late, had certainly changed her body and he realised he had half expected her to look identical to the girl he'd known and despised at Hogwarts. But she was a woman, and a woman who actually didn't look half bad. She was far from a striking stunner but she would have no problem turning a few heads. And it certainly helped that her once vile and bushy mane, that he had so consistently taunted, had been tamed into a set of half-decent curls. But the frown was the same, and her lips were pursed with that familiar hatred he had so often seen at Hogwarts. Yes, it turned out his mother had been correct yet again. The woman had certainly come into her own.

"You know," she broke his thoughts, and he noted she was simply standing there, watching him like he was a virus. "If someone had told me that you would end up working for the Ministry and I would have to work with you one day, I would have laughed in their face."

"Yes, well," Draco sighed, finding no humour to her tone. "It was hardly planned-

"If you put one foot wrong," Hermione started, her voice laced with malice. "I will have you kicked off this case, Malfoy. I don't care if you have supposedly changed, the Ministry is on my side. You still have a reputation and I will not let you jeopardize this case."

"Are you done?" Draco asked her, suddenly finding all his taunts at Hogwarts justified.

"I mean it, Malfoy," the young witch promised him. "I will not put up with any shit from you."

"I never asked you to," the blond wizard growled, more than a little agitated with her words. "I never asked for you and I to do this together-

"Well believe me when I say I protested," Hermione snapped at him, clutching her files a little closer to her chest. "This is going to be a disaster-

"Well you're hardly helping right now," Draco stopped her, eyeing her with impatience. "Why don't you just take a seat, Granger?"

She seemed to consider his request for unnecessary minutes, staring openly at him like he would pounce on her the second she took a seat. She placed the files she'd been holding on his desk and slowly settled herself in the chair. Her body was stiff with suspicion and her hands were tightly clasped in her lap. She held his eyes for a moment before she looked away to something insignificant on his wall.

"You've done well," Hermione commented finally, earning her a confused glare from her companion. "I went over your notes last night and I can tell you've worked hard on this."

"It's my job," Draco replied honestly, resting his chin on his palm.

"I know that," Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I just figured we should get stared with this."

"Agreed," the blond hesitantly nodded, still eyeing her with distrust.

"Well," the witch started, finding this possibly the most awkward incident in her life. "What are your initial thoughts?"

"On the killer?" Draco asked her, accepting her nod before he continued. "You've seen the documents, Granger. It's pretty obvious who his targets are-

"His?" Hermione stopped him, taking some parchments and jotting down some notes. "You think it's-

"I have no idea if the killer is female or male," Draco explained. "But for the sake of discussion I will refer to him as a male."

"Okay," the witch nodded, tilting her head to the side for a moment. "You were saying?"

"Muggle-borns and Death Eaters," the Malfoy heir breathed, and he was suddenly very ware of the sound of his own voice. She was a lot quieter than expected. "The Traces seem a little redundant, the killer is clearly capable of doing things undetected-

"Well then perhaps we should consider the possibility that this was someone who wasn't given a Trace," Hermione offered thoughtfully.

"I have considered that, Granger," Draco snorted at her suggestion. "But I would rather rule out everyone on the list before we started going on a huge hunt for a random wizard,"

"Point taken," Hermione muttered between her teeth, clearly agitated with his logic. "It was just an observation."

"Well it's already been made," Draco told her coldly, a little irritated that she would think he hadn't considered that the killer could be someone random.

"Fine," the witch snapped, and if he thought for one second that her hatred had dissipated, she was proving him wrong. "Why don't we just go over the list and if we see anything interesting we can talk about it."

"Fine," Draco scowled at her, roughly grabbing one of his sheets to look at. "I see no point in this mindless small talk. Help yourself to the names, I can assure you that I have gone over it enough times to know there is nothing revealing there-

"Well forgive me for doubting your capability," Hermione huffed sarcastically, and suddenly he was back at Hogwarts, arguing with the witch like it was his favourite hobby. "Did you honestly think I would trust your judgement on this?"

"I don't expect anything from you!" Draco couldn't help but rise from his seat, and he towered over with a condescending bark. "But like it or not we have to work on this together!"

"If you think that means you can boss me around," Hermione rose from her own seat to meet his stance, and for a moment he thought she was going to slap him. "Then you are fucking wrong, Malfoy! You're little intimidation act doesn't work outside Hogwarts!"

"Yes, well neither does your self-proclaimed superiority," Draco hissed through his grinding teeth. "But if you want to have it out like this everyday then-

"Why don't we just go over the papers individually?" Hermione murmured, sitting back down in the chair. "Only speak to each other about the case and just generally not talk to unless we have to."

"Suits me just fine," Draco growled, casting his eyes down to glare at his notes.

Hermione frowned to herself as she took her own notes and started to analyze them a little too intently. The silence was far too tense to begin with but she eventually became accustomed to it and they barely spoke for three hours, with only Hermione's voice penetrating the soundless room when she asked him to pass her some of his notes a few times. She knew he didn't notice her stealing a few glances at him but she still felt embarrassed every time she did. He looked so similar to the Malfoy she'd despised at Hogwarts that it was impossible not to see him as that teenager who's ridiculed her for years. His frosty, blond hair was still framing his pale face and his silver eyes were still hard and cruel. He was a little taller and he'd filled out a little but more or less he was the reflection of the eighteen-year-old prat she had last seen four yours ago. It was all too familiar and she didn't like it.

His voice was only a little deeper than it had been but it was still icy and sharp and she congratulated herself for suggesting they only spoke when it was necessary. It was an odd realisation but the fact that he had changed so little only tickled her curiosity more. How could his appearance and demeanour remain the same when he had supposedly changed so much of his beliefs? Until she saw evidence of it herself, she refused to believe this man had any real intention of helping her. The need to speak was beginning to tease her tongue and her attempts to ignore it proved unsuccessful.

"Have you found anything?" Hermione questioned, watching when he reluctantly raised his eyes to her. "I've just finished and I couldn't find anything abnormal on the trace reports."

"No," he frowned at her, his voice a little husky from being silent too long. "But then I did tell you there wouldn't be anything."

"I needed to check for myself," Hermione sighed, running her fingers though her hair. "I didn't think-

"What happened to your suggestion about not talking?" He asked her suddenly, placing down his work and leaning back in his chair. "I thought that was the first decent idea you had."

"Well we're going to have to talk eventually," Hermione frowned, sighing like it was the worst thing she could think of. "There are people at risk-

"Including ourselves," Draco commented with an uncharacteristic contemplation to his tone.

"Precisely," the witch nodded, successfully concealing her anxiety about that fact. "And I would quite like to not get killed. So do you think you can move past your judgemental comments?"

"Can you?" Draco shot back, and Hermione stiffened at his retort. It was a fair point though. She had jumped down his throat the moment she'd entered his office. She considered him carefully for a moment, repeating to herself in her head that he was on her side now. He was a professional and so was she. They were both adults. Surely she could figure out a way stomach working with him. She figured it would be just as hard for him and she was never one to back down from a challenge.

"I promise that I will try my hardest," she whispered after a while, and she despised the slight vulnerability in her voice.

"Fine," Draco agreed, and he noted that she seemed to relax a little after that.

"Good," the witch breathed, unsure about what else she could say now. "This doesn't mean I trust you-

"I didn't ask you to trust me," the wizard reminded her with a shrug. "And I certainly don't trust you."

"I doubt you ever could," Hermione offered him a knowing grin, and he fought the urge to smirk back at her. "Let's talk about this properly then."

"Actually, I was going to ask if you had the details about the attacks," Draco requested, remembering that he had wanted to check those notes.

"Oh yeah," Hermione nodded, and instantly she turned back into that studious girl he thought her to be. She reached for one of the files she had brought with her and searched through the contents before offering him a few pages. "Harry mentioned you hadn't had access to that information-

"Which was bloody ridiculous," he remarked, his resentment clear in his voice. He took the notes from her and immediately scanned the documents, realising she was waiting for him to finish before she did anything. Her staring made him feel rather uncomfortable and he hurriedly read through the details of the four incidents.

"What do you think?" She asked him when she figured he was near the end.

"It's all very vague," he stated, refusing to hide his frustration. "No witnesses at all?"

"No," the witch groaned, still agitated herself that the details about the attacks had been so ambiguous. "I managed to speak to two of the victims. The one in Berlin and the one in Asolo-

"Asolo?" Draco repeated the name, trying to figure out why it sounded familiar. "I recognise that name."

"It's a small town by Venice," Hermione explained with a shrug. "I was working in Rome when it happened. Did you notice all the victims were-

"Muggle-borns?" Draco finished for her, his eyes still tracing the words on the parchments. "Yes. He would have a hard time finding any of the old Death Eaters in Europe. The Ministry likes to keep an eye on them so they need special permission to leave the country."

"That makes sense," Hermione mused, thinking back to her encounters with the victims. "The _Imperius _and the _Crutius _curses were used and all the victims had that V carved into them. He just didn't kill them. If it weren't for that I wouldn't have thought they were linked-

"He wasn't getting enough attention," Draco remarked with a creased brow. "This was kept too quiet. These attacks were like a training process for him."

"I agree," the witch nodded, earning her a strange look from the Malfoy heir. "I think we should possibly meet up with some of the suspects-

"Suspects?" Draco asked her, his restless tone back. "You're treating all the names as suspects?"

"Until I can prove otherwise," Hermione admitted, her own voice skilfully guarded. "Yes."

"You are still so naïve, Granger," Draco chuckled to himself, flicking his eyes over to her like she was barely worth his breath. "That list should be treated as a list of potential targets-

"Well it's both," the witch groaned at him.

"No," Draco scowled her, shifting in his seat. "The killer might not even be on that list but thetargets _definitely _are-

"My main priority is finding out who killed those people-

"Well you should also consider protecting those who are innocent-

"Innocent?" Hermione snorted, tossing her hair over he shoulder for dramatic effect. "You said yourself that the killer was most likely on the list-

"I'm aware of that," Draco growled darkly. "But a lot of the people on that sheet are there by association or family ties alone. Pansy and Theodore weren't particularly active during the war but he killed them anyway-

"They were active enough," Hermione argued. "They were still Death Eaters-

"They never killed anyone," Draco defended his old schoolmates. "In fact I would bet they never even used one of the Unforgivables."

"They were still Death Eaters, Malfoy," the witch reminded him. "And the Ministry obviously saw them as a threat or you wouldn't be keeping an eye on them-

"Only because of who their parents were!" Draco shouted, slamming his fist on his desk. "You can't ignore their safety because their families made some mistakes-

"Since when do you give a shit Malfoy?"

"I don't," Draco assured her. "But you should. Protecting the innocent and all that crap was your kind of scene. I know some of the people on that list and you can't just suspect everyone because they had fucked up parents. You're meant to be shortening the list-

"What about revenge?" Hermione asked him, raising her voice a little to match his aggression. "Someone could be seriously pissed off that their parents died and is blaming the Death Eaters for abandoning the cause. It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to avenge their family-

"I know that's possible," Draco snarled at her, agitated that she was implying he hadn't considered all these things. "Anything could be possible, we don't have anything to go on-

"Then as far as I'm concerned," Hermione's words were sharp and controlled. "It's possible that anyone on that list could be the killer-

"Fine!" Draco snapped. "Why don't we just do fuck all and wait until they're all dead?! We'll wait for one to be left and we'll just decide that's the killer-

"Don't be so childish," the witch rolled her eyes at him. "They were still Death Eaters, Draco, you can't just grow out of all the evil breeding-

"How the fuck would you know?" Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously and Hermione instantly realised her mistake.

"Malfoy," the witch muttered reluctantly. "I understand that you have cha-

"Save me your apologies," Draco scowled at her, rising from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Hermione questioned, watching him leave her alone in his office. His feet marched heavily over his floor and the witch grimaced with every loud thud that echoed in his large room. She was pretty certain he wasn't going to answer her and moaned at the back of her throat.

"Lunch," Malfoy stated simply before he slammed his door behind him, leaving the young witch to release a rough breath of anger at his behaviour. This was going to be harder than she thought.

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* * *

.

Draco stormed out of his office with every intention of demanding that Mafalda have Hermione removed from his sight. Hell, he would have screamed at Shacklebolt at that moment. One more moment with that girl and he thought all his previous hatred towards muggle-borns would have swiftly returned. The woman was insufferable! Potter had been a pretentious prick and he doubted the Weasley idiot was any less irritating. Was he the only one who had changed in four years?!

But the closer he got to Mafalda's office, the less angry he felt. He was still furious mind, but he'd be damned if he let her get to him. He knew the Ministry was in her favour. He knew that if it came down to it, it would be him that was removed from the case and he had worked too fucking hard for that to happen.

He slowed down and with a loud roar of frustration, which fortunately nobody saw, escaped his lips. He turned around and headed back towards his office. So she was impossible and argumentative. So was he, and he was perfectly capable of holding his own in a verbal spar. At least she wasn't a complete waste of space like the other two-thirds of the Gryffindor-Golden-Club. The girl had a brain between those stubborn ears. He walked back the way he'd come, ignoring the confused looks he was receiving from Tilly.

"Is she still in there?" He asked the older woman, not really sure how he wanted her to answer. She simply offered him a nod and, with another deep breath, he walked into his room. She hadn't moved from her seat but she was rubbing her face with her palms. The door closed behind him before he could really comprehend what she was doing and she jumped out of her seat at the noise.

"Malfoy," she breathed, evidently a little startled about his return. "I owe you an apology."

"It's fine," Draco shook his head at her and made his way back to his familiar seat. "Let's just-

"No it's not fine," Hermione continued, nervously eyeing her fingernails. "I haven't been around for a while and if the Ministry trust you then I have no right to criticise their judgement."

"Duly noted," the young wizard exhaled, and he shifted awkwardly in his chair. Bloody hell she was making him uncomfortable. "Can we move on-

"And for what it's worth," the witch persisted, still anxiously toying with her fingers. "I will try not to think of you as that vile little bastard-

"Is this your attempt at an apology?" Draco asked her, genuinely confused by her words.

"I'm not good with this kind of thing," the muggle-born admitted with a rather charming laugh at herself. She blinked a few times to gather her thoughts and slowly raised her eyes to him. "I'm sorry."

"That looked hard," the blond wizard smirked at her, realising after four years he still found her discomfort rather amusing. "We should do some more work."

"Alright," Hermione nodded hesitantly, unsure about whether he had actually accepted her apology or not. It was good enough for he though, she was just relieved to get off that topic. It had taken every last trace of her dignity to apologise to the boy who had made her life at Hogwarts unbearable at times.

But she was smart enough to know one of them had to be apologetic and cooperative if they were going to make any progress. Her pride was dented but at least now they could get some work done. And she supposed him returning to his office after his little outburst must have taken some sacrifice on his own pride. The Draco she'd known at Hogwarts would have simply sulked in his room for a few hours and waited until he was found. Then again the Draco she'd known would have been cornering her with taunts of her muggle heritage within five minutes of their meeting.

The went back to that method where they had worked in silence, only talking when they had to. They had some food delivered to the office, courtesy of Mafalda, but they continued to work though the break. A small part of Hermione was dying to shatter the prolonged silence, but if it meant they would have to argue again, she could settle for this soundless bubble. When the clock finally told her that it was coming to the end of the working day, Hermione couldn't help but to release a sigh.

"Right," the witch breathed, gathering some of the papers in her lap. "I guess we should call it a day."

"I'm going to stay here for a bit longer," Draco revealed, refusing to look up at her. "Do what you want."

"Well that's obviously up to you," the witch gave him shrug. "But I will be here at nine tomorrow so don't be late-

"I won't be," the wizard hushed her, resisting the urge to push her out of his office himself.

"Also," Hermione continued, ignoring the way he rubbed his eyes in clear exasperation. "The Ministry suggested we should be able to contact each other at all times so I have altered the wards on my home. I'll leave my address with your secretary."

"Fine," Draco nodded, not really paying attention to her words.

"And I would appreciate it if you changed your wards too," Hermione continued, gathering her things. "I assume you're still at Malfoy Manor?"

"No," the wizard offered, wondering for a moment if her mind had flashed back to the day she's been tortured in his old home. "You can get my details from Tilly."

"Alright," Hermione nodded, clutching her files back to her chest as she stood. "Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

It took a lot for Draco not to male a sarcastic retort but he managed it, and once she closed his door he leaned back in his chair and allowed his head to fall back. He covered his face with his palms and rolled his eyes to himself.

His head was pounding, his shoulders were tight and he was pretty certain he was close to getting a migraine. If he didn't know any better he would say he was allergic to the Gryffindor-Golden-Girl. And there was something very unsettling about the fact he'd just given her his address. Nevertheless, he'd survived the day with her, which was more than he'd expected. At least now he knew he could bare her presence. It would certainly be a gruelling experience but at least he knew it wasn't impossible now.

He stayed in his office for a couple more hours, mainly focusing on his new information about the attacks. He needed to get his head around this new data before he went home, but the lack of detail was frustrating. It seemed that in the Ministry's attempt to conceal it from the press, they had taken some very rushed statements and ignored what could have been rather essential facts. But there it was, and he had to do what he could with it.

He realised with a little aggravation that probably the only way he would be able to get more details about the attacks was if he asked Granger about what she had thought when she had dealt with them. Initiating any sort of conversation with her was likely to be a chore, but he would attempt it tomorrow. He finished up his notes on the second attack and decided he would call it a day. He was in desperate need of a long, searing shower that held false promises of loosening up his shoulders.

He would have to encourage his mother or Blaise to sort him out a date for the weekend to provide him with a little distraction. He had a feeling that his meetings with Granger would only worsen the cluster of knots slowly settling in his back. When all this was over, he was indulging in a long holiday.

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* * *

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**a/n: **Hoping that characters are realistic! R+R please_**! **_

_**Bex-chan **_


	4. Thoughts

**HUNTED**

~*~

Chapter 4: Thoughts.

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Hermione had returned home that night to five owls. Two from Harry, one from Ginny, one from Ron and one from Luna. All of them, except Luna's, had asked her how her day had gone with Malfoy and wanted full details of how he had acted. Nosy buggers. Luna, bless her heart, had simply expressed her happiness that Hermione was back in the country and had asked they meet for lunch at some point. The witch wrote a letter, describing how Malfoy hadn't really changed at all, and expressing her qualms about working with him. It was short and sweet, and using her wand she created three of them and sent them to the two Weasleys and one Potter. She decided she would write to Luna in the morning once she had looked at her schedule for the week and could suggest a decent time to meet.

She considered mulling over her day with Malfoy but decided her mind was due a little recuperation and that today had been an awful start and it was best she try and forget it. The initial awkwardness was over with, so hopefully tomorrow would be easier. She hadn't been mentally prepared enough to see her old bully again. He had barely changed and that scared her. His blond hair was the same style it had been in year seven, his skin was still ghostly pale and his eyes were still cold-grey. He had filled out a little and he seemed a little less childish, but his intensity was exactly the same.

He was still aloof and sarcastic, but at least he wasn't a bullying Death Eater with blood-preference issues anymore. She had expected him to slip up and call her a Mudblood within five minutes, and she was more than a little surprised that her muggle heritage had never once been raised by him. On the contrary, it had been her who had messed up and made some derogatory remarks about him. Well, at least she'd had the guts to apologise and hopefully that had showed him that she was willing to try and create some sort of civil work environment. Okay, maybe civil was a bit too far. And was she really trying?

Crookshanks hopped up onto the sofa to join his owner and she patted his head with a little grin. She gathered her paperwork and started going over some the names on the list of the old Death Eaters. She had only skimmed over it in Malfoy's office. There were too many names, over one hundred she thought. Malfoy had been right too, most of the people were simply associates or relations to the people she remembered being involved. She paused when she saw Narcissa's name and thought back to Draco's argument about protecting the innocent. At the time it had sounded like the most bizarre thing that could have ever passed Draco Malfoy's lips, but now she understood a little. Had she been related with any ex-Death Eaters or fellow muggle-borns, she too would have been fighting for their security.

The fact that she could sympathise with a small part of Draco's psyche encouraged her to make more of an effort with him tomorrow. She had always been a forgiving girl, and she would probably never consider him as anything more than a colleague but that would be enough to do what needed to be done. Perhaps if she tried hard enough she could make this work. After today, things could only get better.

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* * *

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"It was fucking horrible," Draco told his mother, ignoring her stern look at his use of words. "She's still a self-righteous brat-

"Give her a break, Draco," his mother sighed, using her wand to fix them some snacks. "Can you blame her for being a little defensive? We knew this would happen, dear. People need time to forget-

"I do not like being judged," Draco stopped his mother, folding his arms over his chest. "I don't have to prove myself to anyone."

"Of course you don't," the witch sighed, handing her son a Firewhiskey. "You have done very well, and I am very proud of you-

"I mean, I work for the Ministry," Draco continued, tensing as he considered the day's events. "And I have worked bloody hard. I have proven that I have no more interest in the Death Eater life, what more does she want?"

"Draco," his mother attempted to sound calming. "It's been one day. She needed to get some things off her chest. I'm sure it will be fine tomorrow-

"No it won't," Draco protested, eyeing his mother like she was a moron. "The woman hates me and she refuses to forget how I was when I was a kid."

"She'll learn," his mother offered. "Just keep it professional and everything will be fine. She can't hate you for doing your job well. She'll get over it. The Ministry did."

"We'll see," the blond wizard shrugged, bored with the topic now. "Have you heard from Blaise?"

"Yes," his mother nodded, and they walked into one of the lounges to eat their food. "He said he's been very busy with work but he'll pop over to see you soon."

"Okay," her son nodded, and she smiled at his concern. "Did you get more Floo powder? Perhaps you should stay with me for a while-

"Don't be silly," Narcissa rolled her eyes at her son. "You know if we lived together again we'd kill each other."

"Well then maybe you should stay with a friend-

"Draco, I am perfectly fine," his mother insisted. "The wards are strong and I have visitors all the time. I promise that if I think something is even a little off, I will Floo straight to the Ministry-

"Alright," the blond wizard conceded, not really in the mood for eating. "Any chance you could convince Skeeter and her cronies to not clog up the Ministry tomorrow?"

"Sorry, dear," Narcissa smirked at him "But Hermione and Harry returning to London is quite big news. I imagine the press will be there for a few more days."

"Joy," Draco rolled his eyes. "Merlin, I hate that woman-

"Well you shouldn't," his mother defended her friend. "She did a lot of press-control for us after the war. She has been a very good friend-

"Yes," Draco replied with strong sarcasm. "Well she's still a bitch."

Draco flinched when his mother smacked his arm a little harder than he'd anticipated. His swearing really must have offended her. She didn't say anything though, just stared at him, daring him to swear again. If he'd been in a better mood he would have probably goaded her a little.

They chatted a little longer about the case and Narcissa's new decorating plans. Before Draco realised it was almost midnight and he went home with the hopes of gaining a good night's rest before he had to go back to work with Granger. When he went to bed that night he wondered how she would behave around him in the morning. Whoever had decided that they should work together had a very sick sense of humour.

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* * *

.

He was early to work the next morning, but Hermione was still there before him, talking to Tilly when he arrived. They stopped when they saw him coming and Hermione forced a tight smile at him. He noted that she was wearing robes today, but he could see she was wearing muggle clothes underneath. He simply offered her a nod before he walked past her into his office, knowing she would follow.

They sat in the same seats they had yesterday and Draco instantly started looking through the fresh batch of documents that had been waiting on his desk. They were more Trace reports and some details about muggle-borns who had been associated with the war, as he had requested. He could feel Hermione's eyes watching him but he ignored them. If she had something to say he was pretty sure she would just say it when she was ready.

"I made some notes about the attacks in Europe," the witch stated finally, placing some documents on his desk. "There are some pictures in there and just a few more things I thought might help. It's not much but it's everything I could get my hands on."

Draco took the files from her and placed them near his other documents, the whole time still refusing to meet her eyes. He could tell she wasn't finished and she still had something resting on the tip of her tongue. He realised with a little irritation that her stare made him feel uneasy. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why, but he knew he just didn't like it. If she didn't talk soon he'd have to look at her, and he knew he didn't want to do that.

"Malfoy," Hermione started hesitantly, and Draco slowly raised his eyes to her. No, he defiantly didn't like the way she was looking at him. "I would like to apologise for my behaviour yesterday-

"That's not necessary," the wizard stopped her, quickly snapping his eyes back down to his work. "You apologised yesterday."

"I know I did," Hermione nodded, trying not to show she was annoyed he'd interrupted her. "But I thought it might be wise to get started on the right track today."

"Alright," Draco sighed, deciding he had preferred her when she was angry. He understood her when she hated him. This remorseful Ganger he didn't know, and therefore he didn't like. It made him feel uncomfortable. "We should get on with-

"I know you were thinking of your mother," the witch blurted, and Draco frowned warily at her. How dare she try and pry in his personal life? Hermione immediately tensed up at her confession and suddenly felt rather fearful of his reaction.

"You'd better have a good reason to bring this up, Granger," Draco warned her, eyeing her impatiently. "I don't see what this has to do with the case."

"Well, I took your mother's name off the Traces list," Hermione explained, missing his eyes widen for a second. "And if she wants, I will assign an Auror to keep an eye on her."

The blond wizard eyed his companion with a suspicious resentment. A part of him was pleased that his mother had been removed from the list and that she now had the option for some level of protection. The other half of him was furious that this woman had instantly involved herself with his affairs. They'd only been working together one day! And in less than twenty-four hours she had interfered. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to mind her own business but he was too relieved that his mother would no longer be treated as a suspect.

It was an interesting realisation but he decided that his relief outweighed his anger. Just. The girl was definitely a Gryffindor, and he resisted the urge to gag. He knew the woman had probably done it to make herself feel a little better but he didn't mind. At least she could leave London without the Ministry breathing down her neck.

"Right," Draco drawled slowly, turning away from her again. "I'll ask her about that later."

"Okay," Hermione nodded, reminding herself that she'd never expected a 'thank you' from the wizard. This had simply been her attempt to prove that she was willing to be civil, plus she didn't really believe that Narcissa could have anything to do with the case. From what she could gather the older witch only left the house to spend a ridiculous mount of money on clothes. "We should get started on the Traces."

"You can start on them," Draco breathed, a little calmed that they had managed to get through that very awkward conversation quickly. He pushed the stack of parchments over to her and noted that her face had morphed back into that academic expression she was famous for. It made him feel a little more relaxed. Perhaps they could go back to despising each other after her disturbing, good deed. "I'm going to go over the attacks."

"Alright," the witch nodded, immediately delving into the Traces. "I rushed through the notes I made so if something isn't quite clear just let me know."

Draco didn't respond as he began to mull over her work and his eyes instantly fell to the pictures. There were four of where the muggle-borns had been attacked, four of the victims after the attacks and four close-ups of that famous V signature. The mark was the same as the ones he had seen on Creevy, Parkinson and Nott. It was similar to the marks left by the _Sectumsempra, _only a little more jagged and clumsy. Some of the boffins at St Mungos had found that the curse could be healed but it left a permanent scar. Everyone knew what the V stood for and Draco had found that he was rather sick of looking at that stupid letter. How could people still be scared when Voldemort had been dead for four years? It was foolish. This guy, or girl, was some pathetic copycat trying to avenge the Dark Lord's death. They weren't the first the first and they probably wouldn't be the last.

They were, however, the most successful to date. Similar cases of Voldemort sympathisers had mainly just involved an old Death Eater using a few hexes on some muggle-borns before the Traces had betrayed their actions. Yes, the Traces had worked just fine until now. Now Draco had three murders and four attacks to deal with and no idea where to even start looking for the culprit.

He glanced at Hermione as her eyes danced over the new Trace reports. Her brow was creased in frustration, telling him she hadn't seen anything useful. She was chewing on the inside of her mouth in thought and scribbling down some notes of her own. He had no idea what she could possibly be writing but it didn't bother him enough that he felt the need to ask her. She was absolutely oblivious to his probing eyes as she scanned the pages and he thought back to those classes in Hogwarts. She had always been such a nerd and it had annoyed the hell out of him but now he didn't really mind it. He actually preferred that she was completely distracted by the documents, at least she wasn't chatting away like she thought he'd give a shit. He preferred the silence.

He went back to his own work and lost himself in her notes. She must have spent hours on them as there were well over forty pages. And hadn't she said that it wasn't much? Crazy witch. It was mainly just information about the victims themselves instead of details about the attacks but he continued to read anyway. Once he'd finished them he went straight to the files on muggle-borns he'd requested. It only made sense to see if the victims had anything in common and then check the other muggle-borns for similar traits. They worked through lunch and Draco wondered when the hell he'd become such a work-aholic. The day progressed as it had yesterday with only the occasional sentence shared between the pair and he noted that Hermione was always the one who spoke first. Perhaps she didn't like the silence as much as him.

"I think I might be able to work on the Traces," Hermione commented about half an hour before they were due to finish. Draco allowed his eyes to wander over to her again, a little reluctant to remove his glare from one particular sentence about muggle-born groups in London. "I could alter them and see if I could make them more effective-

"Do what you like with them" Draco dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "It's not like you could make them any more useless."

"Well I just think that they need a little updating," the witch explained. "The killer could have somehow gotten a hold of the details and figured out a way to avoid them. Maybe if I updated them a little they will pick something up?"

"It's up to you," Draco shrugged, already deciding that her suggestion was a waste of time. The only thing the Traces had been good for was tracking when a Death Eater had left London, and clearly the killer had managed to leave Britain without being detected. "Mafalda has the details about the Traces if you want them."

"You don't think it's a good idea," Hermione remarked, and he rose his eyebrow a her observation. "I can tell by the look you're giving me."

"It's your call," Draco told her, a little agitated that she was drawing out this conversation. "I just think you might be wasting your time."

"Maybe," the witch admitted softly, her lips twitching in thought. "I just thought I could give it a go-

"Then by all means knock yourself out," Draco snapped, perhaps a little harder than intended. "I don't care."

"Okay," Hermione whispered hesitantly, eyeing him with a slight impatience. "No need to shout-

"Well, honestly, Granger," the wizard scolded, evidently frustrated by her presence. "You don't need my fucking permission-

"I wasn't asking for your fucking permission," the witch barked, rising from her seat to stare down at him. "I was simply asking for your opinion-

"And I'm telling you I couldn't give a shit," Draco spat, also rising from his chair to mirror her stance. He'd be damned if he let this woman look down her nose at him. "Do what you like!"

"I will!" Hermione roughly gathered all her files together as she screamed at him before making a swift journey to the door. She opened it a little, but it seemed she wasn't quite finished. "Changed my arse! I knew you would still be a dick!"

"Good for you!" Draco you spat out his words like they were venom. "You are the most irritating witch I have ever met-

"Well you're hardly a box of rainbows yourself," the Auror hissed. "You always were a bloody prick-

"Fuck off, Granger," Draco growled at her, creasing his face in distaste.

"Glad to," Hermione retorted, walking through the doorframe with heavy feet. "See you tomorrow!"

She slammed his door behind her and Draco fell back in his chair with a very heated sigh. In a moment of childish spontaneity, he grabbed one of the folders and threw it against the wall and watched all the separate sheets explode. It made him feel a little better but a minute had barely passed before he was cleaning up the mess with his wand. There was knock as his door and it took a lot of effort for him not to throw the file back on the floor.

"What?" He growled through his grinding teeth, eyeing the door with evident fury. A somewhat nervous Mafalda joined him in his room and for once he was grateful for her interruption. She stepped lightly into the room, like it was laced with invisible traps, eyeing her colleague like he would pounce on her at any time.

"Everything okay, Draco?" The young wizard had never seen the woman look so hesitant and he resisted the smirk that could have betrayed his amusement.

"I'm fine," he assured her, adjusting himself a little in his seat.

"I heard shouting-

"Just her being a bitch," Draco stopped her. "It's nothing."

"You don't think she will ask you to be removed because of this?" Mafalda seemed to be genuinely concerned that Hermione would complain to Shacklebolt about him.

"I don't think she will," Draco shook his head. "It wasn't about anything serious. Just a little spat."

"If you say so," Mafalda frowned at him, but she seemed to accept his words. "You've finished you know."

"I know," the wizard sighed, combing his platinum hair with his fingers. "I shouldn't be long. I want to spend a bit more time on these."

"Don't overwork yourself," the witch warned him, walking back towards his door. She left him alone and he quickly rushed through his parchments and tidied up his desk. He was pretty certain he had agreed to see his mother today although he couldn't actually remember agreeing to anything. He Flooed to Malfoy Manor and found his mother in one of the sitting rooms Patricia Maystone, one of those gossiping old hags Rita had introduced her to.

"Draco," Narcissa greeted her son with a broad smile. "Care to join us?"

"I'll wait until you're finished," Draco responded, casting the other witch a critical glance. He hated talking to his mother when her friends were present, they always managed to bring the conversations back to themselves and he wasn't in the mood to feign chivalry today.

He made his way down the hall to one of the studies, asking one of his mother's house-elves to bring him a drink. She would come in a little while, her friends knew he didn't think fondly of them and his visits were scarce enough that she managed to get them to leave to allow her some time with her son.

"Honestly, Draco," Narcissa frowned at her son as she joined him a few minutes later. "There is no need to be so rude-

"They're annoying," her son scowled at her. "Bunch of nosy old trollops."

"That's enough," the witch rolled her eyes, though she was used to her son's scathing remarks about her friends. "You seem a little tense today. Bad day at work?"

"Granger's still a testy bitch," Draco informed his mother, ignoring her disapproving glare. He seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Although she did do something for you today."

"For me?" Narcissa arched her eyebrow perfectly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"She had your Trace removed," the blond wizard explained slowly, as though he couldn't quite comprehend the deed.

"Really?" His mother looked surprised, yet still dignified, at the news. "So I can travel freely now? The Ministry aren't watching me anymore?"

"You can do what you like," Draco assured her, enjoying his mother's pleased face.

"Well that was lovely of her!" Narcissa exclaimed, evidently ecstatic with his news. "So why are you in such a bad mood?"

"She's still a pain in the arse," Draco informed his mother, taking a sip of his Firewhiskey.

"Well I hope you thanked her," the witch told her son, noting his rolling eyes with a sigh of disappointment. "And from that look I can tell you didn't so you will do tomorrow."

"I will not," Draco snorted. "You thank her."

"No, Draco," his mother groaned. "You will thank her from me. Don't be so stubborn."

"Fine," the wizard surrendered, deciding he didn't fancy arguing with another witch today. "I'm going to go, I have a lot of work to do."

"Okay, dear," Narcissa nodded, watching her son leave with a smile.

When he arrived home he had had an owl from Blaise, informing him that he would be available to meet soon. He replied suggesting that Blaise come over at the weekend for a chat. He wouldn't have much time in the week for any social activities but he figured after a few more days with Granger he would appreciate a stiff drink with his old schoolmate.

He went back to Granger's notes about the attacks, finding himself paying particular attention the attack in Asolo. He recognised the name but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. The other attacks in Berlin, Vienna and Paris had the exact same amount of details but he just felt that there was something that he was missing. It was a little bizarre that the others were all in major cities, but then that could have so easily been coincidence.

His thoughts drifted to Granger, and the awful prospect of thanking her tomorrow. He would do it for his mother, but that didn't mean he had to like it. In fact he bloody hated the idea. He remembered her being a temperamental little witch back in Hogwarts so he shouldn't have really been surprised that she was quick with her tongue. A quick mention of the word Mudblood would have ceased her arguing in the old days but that was out of the question now.

He was over the whole blood purity debate, plus it was hardly the most intelligent of comebacks. He was actually quite surprised himself how quickly his previous thoughts about muggle-borns had vanished, but after his father had died three years ago there had been no one whispering condemning words in his ears. He had worked with quite a few of them, all very capable with their magic, and all his prejudices had slowly seeped out of his brain.

He had a feeling his mother had helped with that too. She'd never really cared about the issue as much as his father and had befriended a couple of muggle-borns after the war. To put it simply, he had matured enough to come to his own decisions and had realised that heritage really wasn't everything. He was still a little impatient and unsure when it came to muggles but so long as a witch or wizard was skilled with magic, he didn't really care. It had turned out that Voldemort was a half-blood anyway and he'd never been a fan of hypocrisy.

No, it wasn't Granger's bloodline that bothered him, it was simply her. Her and the rest of the Gryffindor-Hero-Trio. He had worked through his childhood prejudices so why couldn't they? Was it still fashionable to snub the infamous Malfoys? He had worked very hard to bring back a little dignity to his family and it had worked. In the last year specifically, he'd felt like him and his mother had been fully accepted back into society. But now with Potter and Granger's return, he was being reminded and chastised for his forgotten teenage opinions. Fucking Gryffindors.

Well she would just have to get over it. Forgive and forget and all that shit.

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* * *

.

Hermione subconsciously stroked Crookshanks as she went over some more parchments. If she was honest with herself, she felt a little guilty about today. She had been so adamant that she would not argue with Malfoy today, but damn if that man wasn't arrogant. She could tell that he was different. There was no more of that pride about his bloodline but there was still pride. The man reeked of it and it bothered her. He was just so argumentative and so stubborn. But then, so was she.

It was probably why they argued, but she realised it probably didn't help that every time she looked at him she saw that boy who tortured her. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about his horrible taunts and her insecurities about her muggle-birth. She even thought about her time at Malfoy Manor and the pain she had felt at the hands of his aunt. She knew she needed to get over it and she knew she probably would. She just needed a little more time to get accustomed to it. She needed to move past her memories of the man.

Forgive and forget and all that jazz.

She was pretty sure she could do that. She Flooed to the Ministry the next day a little earlier than she'd intended but she'd figured that she should stop by the Auror office to check how things were. She was walking along the corridors, pleased that the Ministry was rather quiet before the rush that would ensue at nine, when she bumped into Mafalda.

"Miss Granger," the older witch smiled. "I was hoping I would run into you today, could we possibly have a chat?"

"Of course," Hermione nodded, following the woman as she lead her towards her office. She noted that Mafalda's office was larger than Draco's and took one of the many seats around the huge table in the centre of the room. She watched the older witch closely, wondering what she had wanted to discus.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked as the other witch took a seat opposite her.

"Not wrong, as such," Mafalda smiled, and for a moment Hermione envied her graceful movements. "I was hoping I could talk to you about Draco."

"Ah," the muggle-born sighed in comprehension. "Has he said something about our arguments?"

"Not at all," the witch explained. "In fact if he knew I was talking about this he'd probably be a little annoyed. Nevertheless I think we should talk about you two. I heard you arguing yesterday."

"Okay," Hermione nodded hesitantly.

"Look, Hermione," the witch sighed. "I know that you and Draco hated each other in Hogwarts and I am fully aware that he doesn't have the best reputation, but I am asking you to please look past that. Draco is a good man who made some foolish decisions when he was younger but he has completely changed."

"Right," the younger witch nodded, absorbing all of Mafalda's words with genuine thought. She took a few breaths as she mulled over the woman's request, and she found herself desperately resisting the memories of the younger and cruel Draco that threatened to steal her mind.

"I wasn't keen when he was first sent to my department," Mafalda admitted suddenly. "But he is such a hard-worker and I am willing to swear on my life that he has none of the same dark thoughts he had when he was younger."

"Okay," Hermione breathed, and she found herself believing everything the other witch said. The woman looked like she couldn't invent a lie if she tried, and Hermione's thoughts wondered to Draco's behaviour in the last two days. Yes, he had shouted her, but she had always started it. She looked back to Mafalda with unsure eyes. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I'm asking you to give Draco a chance," the witch confessed, and Hermione found herself nodding absently. "I have a bad feeling about this case and I need to know that you two will be working together. You are a smart girl, Hermione. You know as well as I do that if you're hung up on your hatred for him that you are hindering the case. You seem to forget that Draco, and all other children who were raised around Death Eaters, were forced into that lifestyle. They had no choice and it has taken a lot for them to be accepted back into society."

Hermione's mind was running too fast for her to follow. She realised, with a little irritation at herself, that she had never really accepted that Draco and others like him really had been compelled to join the Death Eaters. She remembered Harry once talking about his fight with Draco at Hogwarts just before their final year, and how Draco had been crying when he had found him. She knew then that perhaps Draco had been reluctant, perhaps even a little remorseful about the duties that came with serving Voldemort. She had never given it much more thought. She'd been a busy girl what with being tortured and saving the world. But now she did have the time to consider it, and she wondered how hard it might be for someone to have to ignore everything they'd been brought up to believe.

"I know," Hermione finally agreed with a sad smile, noticing that she had been silent for a while. "I'm sorry, Mafalda. It's just a little difficult."

"I know it is," Mafalda agreed. "And I'll admit that it took me a while to get over Draco's past with the Dark Lord but I need you to trust me on this. I know you will probably argue because you're both opinionated but you need to move past it."

"I think I can do that," Hermione offered, realising she sounded unsure of herself. For some reason she did trust the woman in front of her, and for stranger reason she wanted to impress her. "I will try my hardest."

Hermione realised with a little disappointment that she had said she would try and be civil to Draco before with no real desire to carry it out. Sure, she had removed Narcissa's Trace but that had been a quick attempt to save face. They talked a little longer about it but Hermione didn't need any more convincing. As she left Mafalda's office, she made a silent promise to herself that she really would try this time.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Hope this is okay!

Bex-chan


	5. Weeks

**HUNTED**

Chapter 5: Weeks

.

Hermione walked as slowly as she possibly could towards Draco's office. She was exhausted with her emotions and tired of overanalysing every thought that slipped into her head. She felt angry at Mafalda for making her study Draco so closely. She was embarrassed that she had too quickly jumped down Draco's throat. She was annoyed that she was being asked to rethink everything she had ever thought about her rival but above all she was anxious.

She had promised herself and Mafalda that she was going to make an effort with Malfoy and she was adamant that she was going to follow through on that vow. She just didn't have a clue how. She offered Tilly a smile as she informed her that Draco was already inside his office. The younger witch entered the room attentively and her eyes instantly settled on her new colleague.

He was sat in his usual chair, his robes strangely absent for once but she spotted them slung over the arm of his chair. He wore a plain white shirt with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and black trousers and he suddenly looked quite human to her. He hunched over his desk as he shuffled through his documents, and although she knew that he had heard her come in, he never once looked up to acknowledge her. She walked, almost fearfully, to sit in the seat she had for the last two days. She nervously toyed with the ring on her index finger as she tried to think of something to say.

She scanned his face, noting the tired smudges under his eyes and his charming cheekbones. His hair was a little loose today and a few stubborn strands tickled his forehead. She wasn't sure why but they made her smile a little. It only lasted a moment though before she realised that she still had yet to speak.

"Malfoy," Hermione sighed his name, wondering if he would meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Draco's eyes shot up so quickly she almost gasped. He looked confused, wary and a little agitated by her statement. She knew he was waiting for her to elaborate but she needed to figure how to explain her thoughts without revealing Mafalda's involvement. The witch leaned a little closer to him over the desk, hoping he would listen to her words.

"I have not been fair to you," Hermione said softly, watching as he tilted his head to regard her. "It's been four years since I've seen you and I've been too hung up on your behaviour at Hogwarts. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt instead of making assumptions."

"Right," Draco regarded her warily, eyeing the blush that had stained her cheeks. "What's brought this on?"

"Nothing," the witch frowned. "I've just been thinking about it and I know I've said it before but I really do want to try and reach some middle ground with you. I'm not saying we won't argue, but I will try to overlook our differences from Hogwarts."

"Okay," Draco grunted in amusement as he observed the witch. He searched for any hint of dishonesty or sarcasm but he found none. Fuck, it was awkward. Too awkward. A change of subject was in order.

"I just want to point out," Hermione muttered quickly, and he exhaled quietly as she continued. "That this doesn't mean I like you-

"Perish the thought-

"But I think we can work together," the witch offered with a shrug. "I can tell you've changed but it will take me a while to completely accept that you aren't a prejudiced bully anymore."

"Fine," Draco nodded, accepting that he was still an intimidating character. He would never be a Hufflepuff but he was a great deal better than he had been.

"I might be a little testy for a few days," Hermione explained, ignoring his lips twitching at her comment. He was clearly trying to refrain from making a remark and she silently appreciated his restraint. "But I think I can get used to this arrangement. I'm sure we can do this. We're both intelligent-

"Agreed," Draco nodded smugly, while silently praying that this conversation would be over soon. He still felt awkward.

"So, there you go," she finished with an unsure expression. "That was what I wanted to say."

"Okay," the wizard sighed, averting his eyes back the notes before he offered her a few sheets. "We should get some work done."

Hermione simply nodded, pleased to be off the uncomfortable topic. She accepted the file he handed her and immediately started analysing the new Traces and some notes on muggle-borns. She felt comfortable in the silence that settled in between them, but after a long five minutes, Draco disturbed the peace when he cleared his throat.

"My mother asked me to thank you," the wizard revealed in a low and reserved voice. "For removing her Trace."

"Oh," Hermione's eyes widened a little, and then her lips morphed into a pleasant smile. "Well, tell her she's welcome."

"Alright," Draco nodded, holding her gaze for a second longer than he would have liked. "Can we not make a big deal about this?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hermione managed to suppress a chuckle. Her colleague looked desperate to be free of this conversation. "Why don't we just start over and we can do some work?"

"Fine by me," the pureblood agreed, shifting in his chair. "We're not going to that stupid thing where we reintroduce ourselves like we've never met, are we?"

"Merlin, no," the witch laughed a little, and he watched her closely as she giggled openly in front of him. She covered her grinning lips with her hand as her body bounced in amusement. He found the display rather intriguing and he frowned, unsure what else he could do. He decided that he preferred her face when it wasn't scrunched up in anger or weary with stress.

"Good," he drawled finally, flicking his wand to stack some of the parchments on his desk. Against his better judgment, he believed the woman. She was far more relaxed in his presence already and yet he knew to be on his guard. She had already apologized twice since their reunion and they had still been at each others throats before the day was over.

He watched her intently and couldn't help but notice that her lips were a little plumper than he had originally thought. It was a random observation but one he made, none the less. There were lots of things he hadn't noticed now he thought about it. In Hogwarts he had kept his distance for obvious reasons. He stopped himself when he realised he was almost staring and grabbed his notes.

He knew she was going over the list muggle-borns so he decided it was best he look over the new Traces he'd been provided with before she'd arrived.

He'd also asked Tilly to contact the Azkaban officials to find out if anyone had escaped in the last few months. It certainly wouldn't be the first time and whilst there hadn't been anything in the news it was worth checking. He had also requested that someone gather some more information on Goyle for him. Draco hadn't seen the boy once since the war and he was very aware that Gregory had never once been brought up in the paper, or by anyone for that matter.

The absence of his name was a little suspicious. All ex-Death Eaters had at some point found their way into the public eye, be it praise for managing to get their life on track, or screwing up and ending up in Azkaban. Pretty much all of his old associates had had a mention in the paper, except for Gregory Goyle. Draco didn't think for one second that Goyle would be the killer though. No. If there was one thing the Malfoy did know about his old schoolmate it was that the man didn't posses a brain cell worth noting. No, Goyle couldn't kill an ant if he tried. But perhaps he had not given up the dark lifestyle like himself, which meant he could have associates who had enough intellect to go on a killing spree. It was a long-shot but it was worth checking.

"I didn't know Justin worked for the Ministry," Hermione commented, stealing his thoughts. He met her eyes and shrugged, showing her he had no idea who she was talking about.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the witch finished, realising that he still didn't realise who she was referring to. "He was in our year at Hogwarts. According to this he works for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I had no idea he worked here."

"A lot of people work for the Ministry, Granger," Draco remarked with another shrug.

"I know, I just haven't seen him in a while," Hermione offered. "I'm surprised you don't remember him."

"Did I bully him too?" Draco asked, trying to hide his amusement.

"Possibly," the Auror shrugged, and Draco noted that there was no malice to her tone, just honesty. She had passed up a perfectly good opportunity to jump down his throat about his flippancy towards his bullying. Things were looking up. How disconcerting. "He was a muggle-born so you might have done."

"Can't remember," Draco shook his head, wondering where exactly she was going with this. "What's your point?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Hermione admitted, frowning as she looked for other muggle-borns who worked at the Ministry. "I guess I'm just glad he'll have some protection if he's working here. He'd be quite an obvious target because he fought for us and he's muggle-born."

Draco simply grunted in response, not really sure how else he could respond. It had been a while since he'd really spoken, or thought about for that matter, any of the other student from his year at Hogwarts. When he'd looked over the lists of ex-Death Eaters and muggle-borns he had recognised many of the names, but he'd never really mulled over them for too long. Hogwarts had hardly been a great time for him, particularly the last few years.

"Do you still speak to anyone from Hogwarts?" Hermione asked him as she jotted down some details near Justin's name.

"No," Draco told her simply, but her sceptical glance made him alter his answer. "I still see Blaise occasionally."

"Zabini?" Hermione clarified, recalling that she had seen something about him an article. "I heard he owned a massive chain of Quidditch shops now."

"He does," Draco nodded, still eyeing his work. The conversation was a little strained but at least she wasn't screaming.

"Were you close to Pansy?" Hermione questioned, and he noted the nervous shake to her voice. She was obviously concerned that it was personal query, and had he been close to the old Slytherin girl, he probably would have been angry about it.

"No," he answered simply, and he raised his eyes just to glimpse her relief. She bobbed her head at him, apparently wondering if her next words were appropriate or relevant.

"I always thoughT you two would get married," the witch admitted with a nervy laugh. He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes at her comment. Too many people had made that foolish statement, and all because he had taken her to the Yule ball in fourth year.

"Not everyone marries their school crush," Draco supplied in a bored tone. He watched her lips twitch in silent agreement but he continued anyway, unable too deny his curiosity. "Of course you fall into the minority that did."

"I assume you're referring to Ron?" Hermione smiled a little, as she too had been plagued with the assumptions that she had married, or at least still dated, her school crush. "Sorry to disappoint you but Ron and I haven't been together for three years."

Draco couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising in surprise. After the war there had been countless articles about the romantic stories between her and Weasley, and also Potter and the girl Weasley. The Newspapers had adored the Golden Trio and had been infatuated with the couples. He couldn't recall reading that they had broken up and surely that would've been big news? For some reason he was a little pleased that she wasn't as predictable as he had assumed.

"Well there you go then," he offered, demonstrating that she had proven his point. "So I assume you're not staying at the Burrow?"

"I gave you my address," Hermione reminded him, tutting when he still didn't seem to remember. "The other day, in case of emergencies."

"Right," Draco nodded, remembering he had indeed collected it from Tilly and it was now lost somewhere amongst all his paperwork. "Twenty-two, Wordsworth Street-

"Twenty-three, Wordsworth Way," the witch corrected him. "Did you remember to alter your wards in case I need to see you?"

"Yes," Draco replied honestly. "Although I don't see why I needed to. What kind of emergency would make you come to me?"

"I guess if there's a breakthrough on the case," Hermione shrugged. " They probably just want us to be able to communicate outside of the Ministry."

"I suppose," Draco sighed with little interest as he glanced at his watch. "It's almost lunch, do you want to work through again?"

"Actually, Harry asked me to check up on the Auror office," Hermione explained. "Since a few of us have been busy with other things we're a little concerned our trainees might be falling behind. I think I might go and see Justin too."

"Knock yourself out," Draco dismissed her with a shrug.

.

* * *

.

Hermione had indeed found the Auror office in a bit of a mess. Harry had taken five of their colleagues with him on his tracking idea, leaving only Proudfoot, Savage, Champs, Leandra, Volan and herself. Combine the lack of staff with their two trainees, Castor and Jason, and things had become strained. She ended up agreeing to give up half of her Saturday to give them some training in Concealment and Disguise, already regretting it. She was suffocating under enough work as it was, but she understood how difficult the training could be. Still, she knew that Harry and Ron would tell her she was taking on too much, and they would probably be right.

She'd only managed to stop at the Department of International Magical Cooperation to see Justin for a few minutes but promised to visit him again some time soon. By the time she got back to Malfoy's office, she was exhausted. Draco hadn't moved from his seat, or at least that's how it seemed, and she dropped tiredly in her chair. He finished off a sentence on his parchment before his stony eyes rose to eye her curiously.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco eyed her dishevelled appearance with an amused glance.

"Nothing," the witch shook her head, shrugging out of her robes. Running around the Ministry had made her a little flushed so she was happy to relax for a moment in her red blouse and black skirt. "The Auror offices are in a bit of a shambles."

"I see," Draco frowned at her, passing her some notes he'd received while she'd been gone. "I managed to gather some more information on the ex-Death Eaters."

"Great," Hermione accepted the parchments, her eyes scanning over the details. It simply included details of all their professions, their living arrangements and a few more specifics. Her eyes settled on the names that had little or no information next to them. There were around twenty, but one name in particular caught her attention more than the others and she looked back to Draco with curiosity. "Do you still speak to Goyle, Malfoy?"

"I thought you might notice that," the wizard smirked at her. "I haven't spoken to him since the war and apparently neither has anyone else. I asked Skeeter to check all her records to see if he's been mentioned in the _Daily_ _Prophet _and I checked the Ministry files but I couldn't find anything."

"I didn't realise he was bright enough to be evasive," Hermione commented, and Draco's smirk grew a little at her comment. "You don't think he's-

"Very unlikely," Draco stopped her before she could finish. "Like you said, he's not bright enough."

"Then why do you think it's relevant?" Hermione looked back t the sheet. Goyle was the only person without much information who she remembered from Hogwarts.

"I'm wondering if he's still involved with the Dark Arts," Draco admitted. "He could have heard something if he still has connections."

"Good point," the witch muttered, offering Draco a reluctant impressed look. "I'll ask Harry to see if he can find anything seeing as he's on the move."

"Okay," Draco seemed satisfied with her suggestion as he went back to his notes.

The pair went back to their work, talking more than they had in the previous days, but still little. The atmosphere was still a little tense, just as Hermione had said it would be, but she realised she was a lot more relaxed. So he was a little cold. She'd known many men who weren't very compassionate. Just because Harry and Ron happened to be her best friends, and very caring ones at that, didn't mean she couldn't handle men who were hardhearted. Moody, Snape and Sirius had all been rather stoic but she had managed to deal with them all fine. She just needed to get used to him, and everything would be okay. When it came to the end of the day, Hermione raised her eyes to Draco with an expression of surprised accomplishment.

"I haven't shouted at you today," she commented, with a little grin of pride. Draco tore his eyes away from his work to regard her with a sceptical glance.

"I had noticed," he told her, arching an eyebrow at her. "Nice to see you trying-

"But I didn't try really," Hermione admitted with a thoughtful glance at him. "You just didn't annoy me today."

"I can try harder tomorrow," Draco offered her one of his charming smirks and she couldn't help but respond with a little grin of her own.

"I can't believe it," Hermione whispered, perhaps more to herself.

"Well I'm very happy for you," Draco told her sarcastically, his eyes going back to his work. "Let's see how long it lasts."

"Good point," the Auror grinned at him as she gathered her things. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

Draco nodded absently as she left his office but he allowed his eyes to watch her retreating form, and they lingered a little longer on the closed door. Strange girl. Then again, a muggle-born Gryffindor never had much hope.

.

* * *

The next two weeks passed with little developments. On the Monday of their third week working together, Harry had informed Hermione that he was on Goyle's trail. They believed he was living in Scotland somewhere and they were just trying to find out where. Back at the Ministry, things had been a little more relaxed. It seemed the killer was having a small break from his activities, and while Hermione knew it was best to avoid a false sense of security, she had been grateful for the lack of reporters. But as Draco had reminded her, it was probably just calm before a storm.

The two colleagues had managed to maintain a decent level of civility between them. They still argued quite often but it was more for sport than a mutual hatred. If anything Hermione quite enjoyed their arguments. It was unusual to have someone who could keep up with her in a fight. Harry and Ron would rarely even attempt to match her in an argument, but Draco never shied away from a heated debate. She wasn't sure if he enjoyed them but at least they had both managed to refrain from bringing up their old prejudices. She had come close a few times and she was pretty sure he had too.

It was now the Wednesday of their third week and they had somehow managed to start an argument about Quidditch.

"It's a dangerous sport," Hermione told Draco squarely. "Every time Ron and Harry play I think they're going to hurt themselves-

"That's because they probably would," Draco scowled at her. "Weasley was hardly the most graceful player-

"Well he managed to make it to keeper-

"With your help," Draco gave her a knowing glance and she stared at him in confusion. "Quite a few people knew you screwed with McLaggen's practice-

"That's beside the point," the witch stopped him, flushing with a little embarrassment that he knew her little secret from sixth year. "The point is it's dangerous."

"But if it wasn't dangerous there wouldn't be any challenge," Draco argued, rolling his eyes at her. "It would just be dull-

"We should do some work," Hermione scowled at him before snatching some sheets off the desk. She pretended to read the text, ignoring the unsettling stare she knew he was giving her.

"You always do that," he muttered under his breath as he grabbed some of his own work.

"I always do what?" Hermione shot him a warning glance over her parchments.

"You always say we should do some work when you're losing," Draco told her, knowing with a secret grin that his comment would infuriate her. He was right.

"I'm not losing!" Hermione defended herself, chucking her work back on his desk. "And I do no such thing!"

"Yes you do," Draco chuckled at her anger. He rather enjoyed it when she got all flushed like she was now. Her eyes would widen and her cheeks would burn and she would often clench her fists. It was rather fascinating to watch and he quite liked the flat that he could still cause her to get all hot and bothered without calling her names like in Hogwarts.

"No I do not!" Hermione shouted again, knowing he was enjoying her irritation. "I was simply pointing out that we have hardly done any work today-

"Well you're the one who brought up the Quidditch match," Draco reminded her in a calm tone.

"I was just asking you to explain some of the rules to me," Hermione frowned at him. "Harry and Ron talk about it and sometimes I have no idea what they're on about-

"So ask them to explain the rules to you-

"They're not so good at explaining things," the witch admitted with a shake of her head, and Draco watched her hair tumble around her shoulders. "But we can talk about that later, we really should do some work-

A knock at the door interrupted her and Tilly entered the office, looking a little timid. The poor woman always managed to interrupt the pair during one of their spats.

"Miss Granger, you have a Floo call waiting," the witch explained quickly. "It's rather urgent."

"Thank you, Tilly," Hermione smiled, rising from her seat and leaving Draco alone. She returned a few moments later, and Draco noted that she looked both disturbed and surprised. She slowly sat back in her chair and tried to gather her thoughts, knowing that Draco would be growing impatient with her silence.

"What is it?" Draco growled at her, unable to restrain himself when she started to fidget nervously.

"That was Harry," Hermione started slowly, brushing some hair away from her face. "They found Goyle."

"That's good news Granger," Draco told her with a confused glance. "That means-

"He's dead," the witch stated simply, watching him frown at her information. "And he had the V mark."

"Great," Draco snarled, massaging his temple with his fingertips.

"I know," the Auror sighed, watching his fingers as they apparently soothed his headache. "Harry and the others are dealing with it at the moment but they'll send us some pictures and the details as soon as they can."

"Alright," Draco nodded at her, and she noted that he seemed a little distressed.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked him with something close to concern.

"This case," Draco growled, slamming his fist down on his desk. He heard his companion gasp and saw her flinch in the corner of his eye. "It's going nowhere and it's pissing me off."

"I know," she breathed, sharing his frustration on the matter. In a moment of spontaneous stupidity, Hermione placed her hand over Draco's balled fist. "Something will come up soon."

Draco wasn't listening to her though. He was eyeing her intrusive hand with a tense stare. She noticed it, and slowly withdrew her hand as he shifted his fist back to his side. She muttered a 'sorry' but he dismissed the situation with a grunt. He knew her and the other two Gryffindors were rather touchy-feely, but he was not comfortable with that kind of thing. He'd only just managed to become accustomed to her presence but he had a feeling if she was going to start touching him like that he would have start all over again.

"The press will be here soon," Draco broke the silence with a rough voice. "We should break for lunch now before the Ministry turns into a madhouse."

"Good idea," Hermione mumbled, quickly gathering her belongings. He watched her leave, noting that she seemed rather desperate to escape his office. He shook his head at the absurdity of the situation, and found himself hoping that she didn't take offence to his actions. They had finally managed to reach a place where they could work together without wanting to kill each other. If she found a new reason to feel awkward or insulted, she would go back to that annoying bitch she'd been for the first few days.

He needed to find something she would become immersed in. If she was studying something she would completely forget about it. If ever they were having an argument and she read something interesting afterwards, she would lose her foul mood. He thanked Merlin when Tilly informed him that she'd received some details from Potter about Goyle's death. It was something new and important, she would become absorbed instantly and there would be none of those awkward moments he despised so much. When she wandered back into his office a while later, he rolled his eyes at her shy movements.

"Potter sent us some of the files," Draco informed her as she took a seat. Her anxious expression instantly vanished and she snatched the folder from his hands. He suppressed a smirk at the inevitability. He had always prided himself on being good at reading people, and while at times she was bizarrely unpredictable, there were certain things she always did the same.

He observed her in silence as she read over the details. He knew any second now that she would start to chew her bottom lip. The thought had just left his mind when he saw a flash of her white teeth nibbling against her mouth, as suspected.

He grabbed his own copy of the details surrounding Goyle's murder and began to learn the facts surrounding his old schoolmate's death. It vaguely occurred to him that the killer had managed to find Goyle, even though all their attempts had been unsuccessful, and this probably meant that the killer had indeed known Goyle. At least well enough to know his whereabouts.

"We're missing something here," Draco remarked absently. "How could he have known where Goyle was?"

"Perhaps your theory was right," Hermione told him, tilting her head in thought. "Maybe they were connected."

Draco didn't absorb her words and the remainder of their day was carried out in silence. Draco wondered briefly it was an awkward silence but he was pretty sure that his plan to distract her had worked.

.

* * *

.

She left first, as she always did, and he waited a few minutes before he Flooed to Malfoy Manor. His mother was alone in one of the sitting rooms, engrossed in further decorating plans. She smiled warmly when he entered the room and they went to a less disorganized spot to have a chat.

"I thought Blaise was coming today?" Draco asked his mother once a house-elf had brought him a drink.

"He's been very busy with work," Narcissa explained, ignoring her son's frown. Draco had only seen his Blaise once in the last two weeks and that had only been for half an hour. He understood that the school year was starting back up soon, meaning it was one of Blaise's busiest times for his business, but his comrade had assured him he would join him and his mother today. "He did send an owl apologising."

"I'll owl him later," Draco supplied with a stoic tone.

"How is the case going?" Narcissa asked her son, sipping her tea. "I heard about Gregory Goyle."

"From Skeeter I assume," Draco gave his mother a disapproving glance. He would never understand why his mother associated with that woman. "It's a little strange. We were trying to locate Goyle and then he gets killed. I feel like I'm missing something obvious. We're not making enough progress."

"Don't worry so much," the witch frowned at her son. "I'm sure you'll figure something out soon-

"I don't know," Draco stopped his mother with a sigh, raking his stressed fingers through his hair. "Four people are dead and we have no leads. Nothing."

"Something will come up," his mother smiled sadly at him. She had become quite the optimist since the war and he supposed it balanced him sometimes.

"Are you still being careful?" Draco asked her, making a mental note to check her wards before he left.

"Yes," Narcissa dismissed him with a wave. "You and my friends have made certain that I am safe here."

"Good," Draco growled, still uncertain about his mother's wellbeing. It was in her nature to assure him all was well, even if perhaps she was a little anxious about the whole thing.

"That aside," his mother continued, watching him closely as she started her next question. "How are things with you and Hermione now?"

"Alright," Draco shrugged, unsure about how he should answer that question even though she had asked it during every visit in the last two weeks. "Granger's probably as irritated as I am about the lack of progress."

"Are you getting on better?" Narcissa pushed, watching her son carefully. The mother had noticed some subtle changes in her son recently, specifically during the last week. When she had initially started asking him about his rapport with the famous muggle-born he had been snappy and scolding about the girl. But as the days had slowly slipped by, his harsh thoughts had relaxed a little.

"I guess," Draco grunted at the witch, eyeing her warily. "Why are you so interested in Granger all the time?"

"Why are you avoiding the subject?" His mother looked at her son snidely, smirking in a way that almost rivalled his own.

"I wasn't," Draco mumbled, knowing his mother probably wasn't going to drop the subject. "We're getting on fine, mother-

"But?" Narcissa continued sensing there was something more to her son's behaviour. While his discussions about Hermione were normally short, he had never been this evasive, and she wanted to know why. She was still a nosy witch with a taste for gossip.

"But nothing," Draco shot a warning glance at her.

"Don't lie to your mother," Narcissa was unfazed by her son's cold stare. "You know I hate it when you're not honest with me."

"Mother, there is nothing to tell," Draco said slowly, hating how his mother always managed to successfully guilt-trip him into revealing things. "I think she's becoming a little too relaxed in my presence."

"Elaborate," his mother requested simply, eyeing her son for an explanation.

"She touched my hand," Draco spat quickly, ignoring his mother's sceptical glance. "I remember she was rather affectionate towards Potter and Weasley in Hogwarts."

"It doesn't sound that bad," Narcissa shrugged at her son. "Clearly she's just like that with her friends-

"You know I'm not exactly comfortable with shit like that," Draco scowled at her. "And we are in no way friends."

"Were you upset about something when she did it?"

"I was angry," Draco thought back to the incident. "About not making any progress."

"Well there you go then," his mother smiled at him fondly. "She was obviously just trying to comfort you. If I remember rightly she was always a compassionate girl-

"Well the last thing she did was comfort me," Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa chuckled at his foul mood. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. Some people are just like that-

"Yourself included," the young wizard interrupted. His mother often tried to give him sneaky pecks on his cheek or try and bribe hugs, but it seldom worked.

"Was that it?" Narcissa asked him, rolling his eyes when he nodded. "Well you're overreacting. You wanted her to be more relaxed with you and clearly she is."

"I guess," Draco agreed reluctantly, deciding that he preferred her now than to that temperamental bitch that had walked into his office three weeks ago. It clearly was just how Granger behaved sometimes. If nothing else it was a definite indication that she was a lot more comfortable around him than she had been.

"It's nothing," his mother dismissed his uncertainty with a chuckle. "You read into things too much sometimes, son."

Draco arched his brow at her comment before she left the room, supposedly to get more drinks. His rational mind was thankfully returning back into power. Still, he felt a little uneasy about the earlier incident, and he had a feeling she was probably feeling a little foolish that he has rejected her gesture. But it didn't really matter, he decided. His mother was right, it was nothing he should be concerned about. His logical mind was back and he was glad for it. If she felt awkward tomorrow, she would just have to get over it.

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* * *

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a/n: Thanks so much for all your support so far! You have all been charming and very complimentary and I appreciate the reviews!

Bex-chan


	6. Wards

**HUNTED**

**~.~**

Chapter 6: Wards.

.

Draco pushed his way through the swarming horde of journalists and photographers, ignoring their monotonous questions with ease. The news of Goyle's death had brought the attention back very quickly, and all the Ministry staff were notably agitated today. Somehow, it had been revealed that the Aurors had been trying to locate Goyle when he had been murdered, and everyone wanted answers to the questions.

_How did the killer manage to find Goyle if the Aurors couldn't?_

_Why were the Aurors looking for him?_

_Are the Ministry any closer to finding the killer?_

When Malfoy managed to finally push his way past the nosy reporters and reach his department, Tilly informed him that Mafalda was waiting in his office. The older witch was perched casually on his desk but Draco noted that she looked exhausted. No doubt she would have dealt with the majority of the press earlier this morning.

"You managed to fight your way through then?" Mafalda asked her colleague with a sigh.

"Fucking parasites," Draco muttered, chucking his files on his desk and eyeing the mound of new paperwork with disdain. "Do you need me to deal with some of the press?"

"No, Kingsley has agreed to deal with it today," Mafalda explained. "I just came to let you know that Hermione has gone up to Scotland to help the other Aurors, so she's going to be joining you later on-

"She's gone to Scotland?" Draco repeated, eyeing the witch sceptically. "She said Potter was sending her the details."

"She didn't seem that happy about it," Mafalda admitted. "But it's her job to investigate this thoroughly. Besides, everything's probably been cleaned up so I doubt she'll have to see anything too bad-

"The woman fought in the war," Malfoy reminded the witch in a cold tone. "And she's an Auror. I'm sure she has quite a strong stomach."

"Good point," Mafalda nodded, eyeing him curiously for a moment. "I assume you two are getting along better now?"

"You know, I don't you need to mother me," Draco shot her an unimpressed look.

"I'm just checking," the witch smiled. "In all honesty you two do seem fine now. I'm surprised it only took a few weeks-

"Well, it's still a little tense," Draco admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But no, we haven't killed each other yet."

"Good," Mafalda seemed satisfied with his answer. "Right I'm going to help Kingsley. I don't need to tell you how essential it is for you to get on with this-

"I know," Draco breathed, finally taking his seat.

"And I wouldn't recommend staying in the Ministry for lunch," Mafalda said as she reach his door. "The press will be here all day, and you're not skipping lunch before you say anything."

Malfoy was about to protest but remembered that he hadn't grabbed anything for breakfast that morning and he knew he would be hungry by lunch. After Tilly had brought him a cup of tea, he tore restlessly into his work.

.

* * *

.

Hermione frowned as Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. After the war and the other countless morbid experiences in her life, her best friend still found it necessary to comfort her when something like this happened. She could practically feel the bitter aura of the _Avada Kedavra _curse polluting the air and it made her shiver.

Goyle had been living in a secluded cottage just north of Fort Augustus. He was alone for miles, and Hermione was relieved they hadn't had to alter any muggle memories for a change. A quick search around his house had informed the Aurors that Goyle had obviously been trying to live a peaceful life, away from the memory of the war. The wizard barely had any magical items at all in his home, let alone any dark artefacts, and aside from a few letters from some family members and ex-Slytherins, there was no evidence to suggest he had even spoken to anyone in the last four years.

She would need to have a closer look at the letters but she doubted they would reveal anything. Besides, anything that could be too telling would have been removed by the killer.

So there was the big question.

Had the killer simply tracked down Goyle because the Aurors had been searching for him?

Or were they missing something?

This was all getting far too confusing for her, and she eyed the bloodstains on the walls like they held an answer. She eyed the V in Goyle's chest with trained indifference. It was bigger this time, stretching from his pectorals to just above his navel. It was deeper too, and Hermione counted the six ribs that were visible, noting one was protruding unnaturally from the wound. His wrists and ankles were raw from binding curses and all but three of his fingernails had been torn away in his desperate attempt to escape, leaving behind spongy-red skin, stabbed with splinters.

She'd seen worse but these attacks were really starting to get to her. Every murder was unique, and the lack of a pattern was frustrating. Dennis Creevy and Pansy Parkinson had both been silenced before they'd been hit with the killing curse. Theodore Nott had been struck with no previous spells and Goyle had been bound. Nott and Pansy had been killed within a week of each other, and then nothing for three weeks before Goyle. It was too erratic. Too random. The only consistency was the V mark and the victims. She wondered if a muggle-born would be next as three of the four victims had been ex-Death Eaters, but the inconsistency of the killings reminded her that it was best not to assume these things.

"What are your thoughts?" Harry asked her, breaking her concentration on Goyle's form.

"Why hasn't he been moved?" Hermione asked her friend. "He's been here a long time."

"I wanted to wait until you saw him," the wizard explained, signalling to the other five Aurors; Neville, Terry, Dean, Horace and Korvin. They each nodded at Harry before they began to work on removing Goyle's corpse. Harry led his best friend away from the small living room until they found themselves outside, staring at the snow-covered mountains. "This is your case, so I thought it might be helpful."

"This case is getting to me, Harry," Hermione admitted softly. "Four people are dead and I have no idea where to even start looking. We are literally just chasing long-shots. I have no solid theories or anything. Everything's just guesses."

"Your guesses have come through for us before," Harry offered her a weak smile. "We'll find something soon. They always screw up eventually and make a mistake."

"I hope you're right," Hermione sighed, setting herself down on the damp grass. "I need something to work with."

"Are you okay?" Harry asked her suddenly. "You haven't had anything strange happen, have you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you are a muggle-born," Harry said, taking a seat next to her. "You're quite a famous one too. I'm concerned that he might come for you soon. I know you've thought about it too and I just wanted to check that you haven't seen anything unusual."

"Nothing," Hermione shook her head. "I will tell you if I notice anything but I'm safe at the Ministry."

"Perhaps you should stay at the Burrow for a while-

"Ginny already asked me," Hermione told him with a moan. "And I said no. The Weasleys have too many people living there as it is. I'm fine, Harry."

"Aright," Harry nodded reluctantly, knowing how stubborn she could be. "How are things with Malfoy?"

"Better," Hermione revealed hesitantly. "Working with him has been easier than I expected. He's still, well... Malfoy, but I don't want to hex him all the time now."

"Shame," Harry chuckled, only half joking. "I know I couldn't work with him."

"You probably could, Harry," the witch smiled at her friend, aware of her uncertainty about that comment. "He's changed a lot since Hogwarts-

"But like you said, he's still Malfoy."

"I guess," Hermione shrugged, rising from her grassy seat. "I should be heading back to the Ministry. I have everything I need."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked her, also rising from his place. "We're going to start tracking again after this is cleaned up but I could come home for a while and keep an eye-

"Harry, I'm really fine," Hermione insisted, patting his arm reassuringly. "I'm an Auror too, you know. The Ministry is safe and the wards on my house are very strong."

"Yeah, well Goyle and Creevy had strong wards too," Harry reminded her, and he was about to continue with his warning when her face suddenly froze in thought. "Hermione, you okay?"

"The wards," the Auror muttered to herself, and Harry recognised her expression when she started to analyse something in her head intensely. She was looking beyond him now, toying with the information she had and he knew it was futile to try and interrupt her. If she lost her train of thought now because of him, she would be pissed. She finally turned back to him, still murmuring. "Maybe, but-

"What is it?" Harry asked her, eyeing her expectantly.

"I need you to get me the details about the wards and send them to me immediately," Hermione told him quickly, embracing him in a brief hug before she apparated out of his sight. She went home, had a quick shower and only had to wait two hours before Hedwig tapped on her window with a file of shrunken parchments attached to his leg.

She read the small note from Harry explaining that Terry was particularly good with wards and had provided her with some details about Goyle's wards and what he could remember about Creevy's. It was only a few particulars but Terry had promised he would look into it further, and send her whatever he found.

She got ready in record time and Flooed to the Ministry, eager to show Malfoy her new file.

.

* * *

.

Draco's office was a mess. There were masses of parchments scattered over his desk and some on the floor, there were four mugs, all containing varying amounts of tea and many other random objects including countless quills, books and photographs. It was organised chaos at its best. He glanced at the clock and decided he would head out for some lunch soon before his eyes went straight back to his work. He had completed over half of the Traces by himself and had managed to gather some more information on the ex-Death Eaters and muggle-borns.

Yes, he had worked his arse off, but he was bored out of his skull. He had probably been so successful with his workload because he was distracting himself from the mind-blowing boredom he had been experiencing all morning. He'd never looked at the clock so much in his life. But of course that only made the time go slower.

He wasn't sure when it happened or why, but he had to admit to himself that he had gotten into a routine with Granger. Her presence in work had become a normality and without her constant, although rather entertaining, arguments, he found himself having the slowest day of his life.

He had always been partial to the solitude and the privacy his office provided him with, and he still was, but the case was stressing him out and he needed to be able to have it out with someone. Someone who could keep up.

Hermione burst through his door and he almost jumped at her sudden appearance. Not quite though. He arched an eyebrow at her excited features, noting her hair was more wild than normal. She was already shrugging off her robes, revealing a black skirt and a grey blouse. She flung her robes into one of the spare chairs to the side of the room and he watched her closely, waiting for an explanation about her enthusiasm. She smiled at him and was about to open her mouth to talk when she noticed the state of his desk and frowned.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?" Hermione eyed him warily, gingerly picking up one a snapped quill. "Everything okay?"

"Busy morning," Draco dismissed quickly, still eyeing her with interest. She took her seat, placing her bag next to her as she continued to pick up random items from his desk and eye them with confusion.

"It looks like you went on a rampage," Hermione commented and he growled under his breath when she still didn't explain her initial excitement.

"Granger," Draco snapped, snatching a book she'd been looking at from her grasp. "Why were you so bloody happy a few seconds ago?"

"The wards!" Hermione exclaimed, and the energy returned quickly back to her features. "Both Creevy and Goyle had wards on their homes."

"So?" Draco shrugged at her, momentarily questioning her supposed intelligence. "Most wizards have wards-

"No, that's not my point," the Auror explained, rolling her eyes for effect. "My point is that the killer managed to get past the wards-

"Well maybe the-

"Would you just let me finish?" Hermione barked at him, considering a silencing charm. "I know that maybe the killer just did his homework, but what if he didn't have to? What if they knew the killer and just let their wards down? Maybe they knew the killer."

Draco's eyebrows neared as he considered her idea. He hated it when she looked all proud like she did now. Clearly, she thought her realisation was relevant, and he hated to admit but so did he. They had been too busy wondering about the links between the victims, they'd never really considered how the killer had managed to break the wards. Hell, they had never really looked at the wards at all, and he scowled when he realised they really should have paid more attention to the little details of the murders.

"What do you think?" Hermione broke his thoughts, and she realised she wanted him to be pleased with her idea. "I managed to get some information on the wards they had so we could see if it does mean anything."

"Alright," Draco agreed hesitantly. "You may be on to something."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled at him, and he resisted a smirk. The last thing she needed was more encouragement. "Do you want to go over the ward details?"

"Where did you get the details from?"

"Terry Boot is a bit of a genius when it comes to them so he gave some information," Hermione explained, retrieving the notes Terry had sent her from her bag. "He said he would look into it a bit more and send me anything else he could find."

"Okay," Draco nodded, recognising Boot to be one of the Aurors who had accompanied Potter. "We can discuss it over lunch."

"Alright," Hermione grinned at him, placing the file back into her bag. "You want to grab something from downstairs?"

"No," Draco shook his head, thinking back to Mafalda's warning about the press. "There are a hundred journalists downstairs so I was thinking about going somewhere in Diagon Alley."

"Okay," the witch replied hesitantly, realising they had never really left the office together before. "But won't there be journalists there?"

"I know somewhere quiet," Draco informed her nonchalantly, slowly raising his eyes to look at her. "Have you already eaten?"

"Well, no-

"Then let's go," the wizard commanded, leaving his seat and heading towards the door. Hermione clumsily stumbled after him, grabbing her robes and her bag and rushing to follow the blond wizard. They walked to the fireplace at the other side of the department and Flooed to Diagon Alley.

.

* * *

.

Draco immediately headed in a particular direction, walking past _Gambol and Japes _and _Ollivander's_ before he stopped in front of a small cafe called _Cambria_. Hermione had never even noticed the quaint little snack bar before, and observed that it was rather quiet inside, despite it being lunch time. She followed Malfoy inside as he guided them to a secluded table near the back.

"It's so quiet here," the witch commented as she took a seat opposite him.

"That's why I like it," Malfoy told her, turning to look at the waiter who had instantly joined them.

"Mr. Malfoy," the older wizard greeted, smiling kindly at Draco. "It's nice to see you."

"Alfred," Malfoy greeted, and Hermione noted a slight pleasantness to his tone. "I'll have the beef casserole and a butterbeer."

"Of course," the greying wizard smiled, turning to Hermione. "And for you, miss?"

"I didn't really get a chance to look-

"Do you like casserole?" Draco asked her with a hint of impatience, but she nodded at his question anyway. "Then you should have it. It's really quite good."

"Okay," the witch smiled politely at Alfred. "The casserole and a butterbeer too, please."

The waiter offered them another nod before he left them alone, and Hermione shuffled a little awkwardly in her chair. It felt bizarre being in a social situation with Draco and she really wasn't sure what to do or say.

"Are you sure we can discuss things here?" The witch asked him with a slight nervous edge to her voice, eyeing the small amount of customers warily. "This is confidential."

"Nobody here cares," Draco assured her as their butterbeers arrived.

"Okay," Hermione nodded slowly, eyeing him thoughtfully.

The pair began to discuss their new information and Hermione became more and more convinced that the killer must have been permitted to enter by the victims. Goyle's wards had been very strong and complex and Draco had to admit that it would have taken a great deal of skill to beat them. They came to a conclusion that there was a possibility that Creevy and Goyle had indeed known the killer, and even trusted them to a certain extent. Why else would they have let the killer into their homes? They agreed to wait until Terry sent her more details about Creevy's wards before they looked for possible mutual contacts between the two late wizards.

And Draco had been right. The casserole really was good.

"How did you find this place?" Hermione asked him as she finished off her food. "I've never seen it before."

"I can't remember," Draco shrugged, reading over the files Terry had given her. "My mother wanted to keep a low profile after the war so I think she told me about it."

"I like it," the witch admitted with a grin. "It's a lot nicer than the food at the Ministry."

"That's hardly difficult," Draco commented dryly, eyeing her empty plate. "I take it you liked the casserole."

"I did," Hermione conceded, averting her eyes for a moment. "Thank you for the suggestion."

"Nice to see you trust my judgement, Granger," Draco commented, lifting the parchment a little higher so she couldn't see his face. He wasn't even sure why he had done that. An awkward silence inevitably followed and the wizard regretted his comment.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Malfoy?" Hermione asked suddenly, and he lowered the sheets onto the table.

"I guess we'll find out," Draco stated in a dull tone.

"Well I couldn't help but notice," the witch started, evidently concerned if her question was appropriate. "That your father isn't on the Trace-

"He died," Draco remarked quickly, watching her face grimace in discomfort. He knew the questions that would follow and decided he might as well answer them now. "Three years ago, another Voldemort sympathiser hit him with the killing curse. They were pissed my father had swapped sides."

"I see," Hermione said, and he waited for her to say those vile predictable words 'I'm sorry for your loss,' but they never came. "That explains a lot. I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable."

Another uncomfortable silence settled between them as Draco considered carefully. When his father had been killed, too many people had offered their condolences, pretending that his father had been a decent man. He'd always found it disgusting. He knew his father had been a prejudiced bastard and the last thing he had needed was people telling him otherwise. He'd been nineteen. Did they think he was stupid? He was glad Granger hadn't attempted to lie about her hatred for his father. It would have simply irritated him. Instead, she just sat there without a hint of pity, fidgeting in her seat again.

"Let me ask you a question," Draco demanded suddenly, and her eyes snapped back up to his. "Why did you become an Auror? I never thought you'd have gone for that."

"Interesting question," Hermione tilted her head to the side as she considered it. "It was actually your cousin's suggestion."

"My cousin?"

"Tonks," Hermione clarified, and he frowned uncomfortably as she mentioned her name. He was never sure how to react when people mentioned Nymphadora. Sure she'd been his cousin, but he'd never really known her. "Before the war she told me that I would make a good Auror."

"Okay," Draco nodded, noting that her face dropped a little when she mentioned his late cousin. "What would you have done if she hadn't suggested it to you?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted thoughtfully. "I guess I would have liked to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and focussed more on my S.P.E.W. work. I still do some work for it but it's hard to find the time."

"That sounds more like you," Draco commented, and she offered him a weak smile. "You never would bloody shut up about house-elves." Hermione gave Draco a cold look, which he returned before he continued. "And before you go on a rant we only have two now and they asked to stay. My mother did a bit of soul-searching after the war."

"Well that's good news," the witch's smile grew a little wider. "You really have changed."

Draco scowled as yet _another_ awkward silence forced itself in between them. The conversation had gotten far too personal for his liking but a quick glance at a clock informed him that their lunch break had finished almost ten minutes ago.

"We need to be getting back, Granger," Draco motioned to the time as he began to gather his things.

"Oh, shit," the Auror murmured, shoving all their work into her bag.

They split the bill after Hermione insisted that Draco was acting chauvinistic. They Flooed back to the Ministry and instantly settled back into their work pattern. They didn't ask any more personal questions, but Hermione did suggest that they should go back to _Cambria _again if the press decided to clog up the Ministry. He knew it was likely the journalists would return when there was another murder, but he agreed anyway.

.

* * *

.

"Things have been hectic at work," Blaise explained to Draco, helping himself to a glass of firewhiskey. "What with the kids going back to school and everything."

Draco nodded at his friend as they went to have a seat in his living room. It had been a while since he'd seen his friend and he really did look rather stressed and agitated.

"I assume you heard about Goyle?" Draco questioned, taking a sip of his own drink.

"How could I miss it?" Draco grunted. "I can only imagine how many reporters were at the Ministry today."

"Fucking arseholes," the Malfoy heir scolded. "I might ask mum to tell Rita to back off a little. I can't even go for a piss in peace."

"Good luck," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Any interesting developments at work?"

"Nothing much," the wizard replied, deciding the wards weren't really important until they had a full analysis from Boot. "Granger thinks she might be on to something but, to be honest, this guy's too smart. We're just waiting for him to screw up."

"How are things going with Granger?" Blaise questioned, glancing over the newspaper on Draco's couch. "Is she still an unbearable bitch?"

"She's become less irritating," Draco shrugged at his companion, ignoring Blaise's sceptical look.

"I thought you couldn't stand her?"

"I need to work with the woman," Draco explained, deciding he wouldn't tell Blaise that he had taken Hermione to lunch today. "We needed to reach some sort of truce for that to happen-

"Yes, but still," the wizard interrupted. "Last time I spoke to you, you despised the muggle-born-

"I never said we were best friends," Draco warned his friend in calm tone. He did not like this subject. "I just said we have to work together."

"Getting a little touchy there, Draco," Blaise commented, smirking as he taunted.

"Yes, well," Draco frowned, combing his fingers through his platinum hair. "You'd be a little touchy too if you had the Ministry breathing down your neck to find a psychopath."

"Fair point," Blaise nodded gravely.

"And just be careful," Draco told his friend in a serious voice.

"I always am," the wizard assured his friend. "So the Ministry are giving you a harsh time?"

"There are four people dead and we have no suspects," Draco growled, massaging his forehead and grinding his teeth. "What do you think?"

"I think you need a good shag," the dark-skinned wizard grinned. "You are far too tense, mate."

"I'm inclined to agree with you on that," Draco breathed, glancing at Blaise with a questioning look. "You know anyone? I'm sick of my mother setting me up with morons."

"I think I can sort something out," Blaise informed his pale companion. "Saturday night sound okay?"

"Just name the place," Draco pursed his lips. He really could do with releasing a little tension before he went completely insane.

"I'll owl you the details tomorrow," the wizard nodded.

Blaise only stayed a little longer before he headed home, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. Goyle's death was still playing on his mind. He had a sneaking suspicion that the wards would not have been sensitive to Polyjuice Potion, making Granger's idea moot. He supposed there was always a possibility that the wards would reveal something, but the way his luck was going with the case it was doubtful.

No. They had nothing. And for all he knew his mother, Blaise or even himself could be next. He had no control and no clue what he was even supposed to do now. He felt powerless and it was the most disconcerting thing he could ever experience. That feeling, combined with the fact he hadn't had a decent fuck in a while, was not doing well for his temper. He could practically feel his dick twitch at the prospect of a shag on Saturday. Until then, he was just going to have to deal with his foul mood.

.

* * *

.

Hermione hated it when the Ministry was bust on a Friday. When she Flooed to work, she was instantly bombarded with the press. She estimated around thirty journalists were swarming around her and she regretted not Flooing closer to the department. She tried to push her way through the crowd, refusing to make eye contact as the reporters screamed their questions at her.

"Hermione! Do you have any idea who the killer's next victim is?!"

"Miss Granger, do you have any idea who is behind all this?!"

"How do you feel about being a potential target?!"

The witch tried to barge through the tenacious crowd but there were so many of them. She felt someone grab her upper-arm and her impatience turned into anger. She turned around, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind but she found Draco staring down at her.

"Granger," Draco murmured as he began to manoeuvre them through the crowd. She followed his lead, relieved when she realised they were finally out of the Ministry's entrance. They left the press behind and Malfoy released her arm as they headed up to his office. She watched his face for a moment, noting his weary expression and his clenched jaw before he marched ahead of her.

"Thanks for that," the witch muttered quietly, eyeing his back while she wondered what could have made him so agitated. "I thought things might have calmed down a little."

"Wrong," Draco remarked in a bored tone, ignoring Tilly's bright smile as they walked into his office. He fell heavily into his chair and growled at the mess on his desk, noting that the new Traces hadn't been delivered yet. "For fuck's sake."

"You okay?" Hermione asked him as she relaxed in her own seat. "You seem a little tense today."

"I'm fine," Draco barked, and his voice sounded sharper than he'd intended.

"You sure? You don't look-

"I said I was fine," the wizard spat, and Hermione felt her lips clap together. She could recognise a sensitive attitude when she saw one.

"Okay," the witch sighed, deciding it was best just to get on with some work. "Terry should be sending over his work on the wards at some point-

"Great," Draco rolled his eyes at her, and she hated that he had the ability to make her feel stupid. "Those reports aren't going to make a difference."

"What-

"Even if the wards were really strong," Draco continued, tapping his finger angrily against his desk. "And the killer had to have permission to enter Goyle's and Creevy's homes, that doesn't fucking mean they knew the killer-

"I don't-

"It just means that the guy knew how to make Polyjuice Potion!" Draco's voice was loud and bitter and Hermione involuntary gasped when he slammed his open palm against his desk. His breathing was a little faster than it normally was and his stormy-grey eyes narrowed at her. Her shock quickly subsided and morphed into fury.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Hermione stood up and clenched her fists at her sides. "I am fully aware that Polyjuice Potion could be an issue but there are wards that can detect it. Now. I don't know what has crawled up your arse since yesterday but I will not listen to you bitch all day-

"Then I suggest you put on some earmuffs-

"I would sooner silence you," Hermione promised, resting her hand against her wand to prove a point. "Now are you going to calm down?"

"Don't try and patronise me, Granger," Malfoy warned her with a scowl.

"I'm not," Hermione told him, sitting back in her chair. "I'm asking you to stop being such a moron so we can get on with-

"Fine," Draco snarled at her before lifting up some parchments. He pretended to read over the words but he couldn't quite focus his attention on the page. He glanced up at Granger and noticed that her previous rage had been replaced with disappointment. If he thought his own temper couldn't have gotten any worse, he was wrong when he saw her frustrated face.

They barely spoke during the whole day and worked straight through lunch. Hermione missed the _Cambria _already.

.

* * *

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a/n: Thanks for your support so far, it's been very encouraging. All suggestions welcome!!

Bex-chan


	7. Climax

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 7: Climax

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When Hermione still hadn't received any further details from Terry she started to feel a little worried. It was Friday evening, and she was still uptight about her arguments with Draco. The man had infuriated her beyond belief. Yes, they argued quite often but their fight that morning had been pointless. It had been neither intelligent nor relevant. Something had put Draco in a bad mood and he'd taken it out on her, and that had pissed her off.

So, to distract herself from her own fiery thoughts, she had attacked her work, nursing a glass of red wine as she did. Her original plan had been to prove Malfoy wrong, and demonstrate that the wards were an important factor, but she didn't have the information she'd been promised.

She had worked with Terry for four years and they had participated in their training together, so she would say she knew him well. Well enough to know that he usually did what he said he would. The man was a perfectionist, so she concluded that there must have been a good reason for her missing data. She'd sent Harry an owl, just to double-check that everything was alright, but that had been almost five hours ago, and she was really starting to worry.

Nevertheless, she pressed on with her work, eyeing the summaries of the murders, hoping something would jump out at her.

_Dennis Creevey, 19, killed August 12__th__. Part-time assistant for a magical clock manufacturer. Found in his flat with V-shaped wound on his chest. Cause of death: Killing curse. _

_Pansy Parkinson, 22, killed August 22__nd__. Unemployed. Found in marital home with V-shaped wound on chest. Cause of death: Killing curse. _

_Theodore Nott, 22, killed August 27__th__. Quidditch coach. Found in Knockturn Alley with V-shaped wound on chest. Cause of death: Killing curse._

_Gregory Goyle, 22, killed September 15__th__. Unemployed. Found in home with V-shaped wound on chest. Cause of death: Killing curse. _

There were many notes that followed but they all merged together before her tired eyes. She was sick of looking at them. Sick of the repeated words that she saw every day. Sick of feeling helpless and completely useless. How could they have no suspects? No indications or theories? She was a bloody genius! And some bastard on a killing-spree was beating her. When had her Friday nights become so dull?

Her owl, Mayla, returned a couple of hours later with the letter she had meant for Harry still attached to her leg. Her concern flooded her like a wave of terror. She thought about owling Ginny, but knew she would be asleep. It was almost three in the morning, and her own eyelids were starting to droop. She headed to her room with teary eyes and prayed she would hear from Harry by tomorrow.

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* * *

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Draco was still awake at three in the morning. Parchments were scattered over his coffee table, along with a large bottle of firewhiskey. He didn't bother with a glass. His head was spinning a little, and all the files on the case were screaming at him, rousing a premature headache. Every now and then he would have a flashback to his argument with Granger, and every time one came he would take a long swig from the bottle. He had no idea why but their argument had pissed him off.

All his notes on the case were taunting him. Reminding him that he had made no progress. He'd taken it out on her and it was only due to the drink that he could accept he was regretting his behaviour. Alcohol seemed to bring out his contemplative side and he despised it for that reason alone.

Alright, so he'd been a bastard, but she was hardly an innocent party. She was as stubborn as he was and had refused to back down. She had goaded him, and he had noticed that little spark in her eye when they fought. It was always there when they shouted at each other and he knew she enjoyed it just as much as him. Still, he could tell that she'd been a little affected by their quarrel today. For starters, she had let him have the last word and that was a rarity. Plus she had refused to meet his eyes for the remainder of the day, and hell if he knew why, but he didn't like that.

He had chosen to argue out his frustration with her because he knew she could take it, but she had backed down first. He recalled her face after the argument, unsettled and almost disappointed. There had been no anger, no fire, and he was angry at himself for dousing her.

Clearly, he had crossed some sort of line she had drawn. She hadn't provoked him, he had simply jumped down her throat, and he knew she was probably wondering why. She had done nothing. The case was getting to him. He was getting head-fucked.

And now he was angry at Granger again for making him overanalyse their argument.

He roughly slammed down his parchments and the loud clap made him wince. At least he could release a little aggravation on whatever girl Blaise had set him up with tomorrow night. Still, he needed something now. Alcohol also had a tendency to set his testosterone thundering.

His balls had never felt so heavy, and he was vaguely aware that his dick was already a little hard. With drunk and clumsy hands, he undid his trousers and slid his boxers down to his knees. His hand was quick and firm. There was no need to drag it out, he just needed a small moment of satisfaction after his shit day. He titled his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, hissing when he began to feel that familiar tingle somewhere under his stomach. It was building, spreading lower and his fist pumped harder and faster to reach it.

Just before the sensation reached its climax, he vaguely registered that an image of Granger had flashed against his eyelids. It had only lasted a moment and he would have questioned it had it not been for the inappropriate timing.

He groaned when he felt the bliss reach its pinnacle, and he ignored the warm liquid when it splashed under his naval. A few more slow strokes and he was done, blinking back the blurry frame to his sight. Yes, that had certainly lightened his mood.

He grabbed his wand to get rid of the mess and then relaxed against the cushions with a contented breath. He felt relaxed for the first time in a couple of weeks, but it was short-lived when he remembered that he had pictured Granger just before he came. His eyes snapped open and his brow creased in thought.

_What the fuck?_

Had he just...fantasised about Granger?

No.

Absolutely not.

No. Clearly his flashbacks about their earlier argument had just chosen to jump in his head at the wrong time. That was a reasonable explanation so he stuck to it. Clearly his head was just all over the place. He was pissed off about the case, pissed off about their fight and just generally pissed off. A good night's sleep was required, so he trudged wearily to his room and ignored that fact that he had just climaxed to an image of Hermione fucking Granger.

Head-fuck indeed.

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* * *

.

Hermione woke just past midday after a restless sleep and immediately sent owls to both Ginny and Harry, hoping that Mayla had just been unlucky last night. She went straight back to her work, glancing far too often at her clock and counting the minutes until Mayla returned.

Ginny had also had trouble reaching Harry, but insisted that it was nothing to worry about. He had owled her on Friday morning informing her that he would be difficult to contact, although she wasn't too sure about the reason why. This calmed Hermione a little, but not enough. So she worked her arse off all day, even contacting friends of the victims to try and establish if they had noticed anything strange in the days leading up to their deaths.

Poor Mayla barely had a moment's rest all day, but she could see her owner was looking a little stressed and delivered all the letters as quick as she could. Before Hermione realised, it was almost evening.

Finally, at around ten o'clock, Mayla delivered her a letter from Harry. He explained that he'd been on, what he thought, was a promising trail and had set up wards to block owls in case they had blown their cover. It had turned out to be a dead-end but at least he had sent her Terry's work on the wards. The results were interesting.

After reading them over, she realised she couldn't wait to show Draco the results. So she didn't. She wasn't sure why she decided to add a little make-up and fix her hair before she left.

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* * *

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Draco's date was a pureblood socialite called Penny Greendove, and after she had mispronounced the word 'specific' to sound like 'pacific' five times, he had decided she was possibly one of the most annoying people he had ever met. She had done nothing but chat mindless drivel since he had met her, and he was pretty certain he could count the words he had managed to mutter on one hand.

Still, she was an attractive little thing, and her father happened to own the restaurant they were dining in so his meal was free, for a change. The level of her intelligence was clearly low as she seemed to think this date was going well. She had stroked his arm a few times and whispered in his ear, oblivious to his indifference to her advances. She didn't need to seduce him. He had planned on bedding her before he had even met her.

When he suggested they go back to hers, he had had to stifle a growl when she told him her home was having some work done and she was living with her parents. No way was he dealing with parents when he had to make a quick escape in the morning.

He despised bringing back girls to his house as they always found it necessary to linger around in the morning, but he needed a shag. He had built himself up for one now, and decided he would just get rid of her in the morning by claiming a family emergency.

"Would you like a drink or something?" Draco asked her once they had Flooed back to his house.

"I'm fine, thank you," Penny tossed her charmed-blonde locks over her shoulder. "Could I use your bathroom please?"

"Third door on the right," he murmured, motioning to the staircase behind her.

Draco poured himself a firewhiskey and almost jumped out of his skin when a certain muggle-born charged out of his fireplace. He stared at her as she neared him, confused by her proud smirk and the parchments she was clutching in her fist. His eyes slithered over her relaxed muggle clothing but he caught himself. He fought hard against the little voice in his head, reminding him that he had tossed off to the woman in front of him just last night. It was impossible not to look at her differently, but he quashed the notions hurting his head. She had just burst into his home looking decidedly smug, and he had no idea why.

"Granger," he sighed hesitantly, arching an eyebrow at her entrance. "What are you-

"You were wrong," Hermione gloated, stopping only a foot away from him. "Very wrong, in fact."

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked her, a little unsettled by her accusation. He hated being wrong.

"The wards," the witch continued, her voice irony-sweet. "Terry sent me his notes a few minutes ago. Creevey's wards weren't sensitive to Polyjuice Potion, but Goyle's were. Goyle knew his killer and he let him into his house."

Draco couldn't stop his eyes from widening at her words. No way had he been expecting that. He had been so convinced that Boot's notes would be irrelevant.

"I was right," Hermione stated finally, shoving Terry's notes into his hand so he could see for himself. "You were wrong, so I want an apology for you being such an arsehole yesterday."

Draco's eyes scanned the parchments she had given him, quickly taking in the essential details. She had been correct. This was important and she had thought of it. He felt like he should be angry or embarrassed for shouting at her, but instead he just felt a little proud of her for suggesting the theory. He smirked to himself, dropping Boot's notes on his table before he slowly raised his eyes to her pleased face.

"Nice work, Granger," he offered her, and her face turned slightly surprised at his compliment. "I'm impressed."

He went to move away from her, suddenly aware of their proximity. He liked his personal space and she was definitely invading it at the moment. He just wanted to get a few paces between them, but she prevented his plan when she grabbed his arm. He turned to face her slowly, instinctively shooting her a warning glace.

"I want an apology," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, stepping a little closer. "You were a bastard-

"Well you were hardly pleasant-

"I was defending myself," the witch whispered, and he felt her breath on his neck. "You jumped down my throat-

"Well you didn't help the situation," Draco told her, and he attempted to turn away from her but she grabbed his chin to face her. They were closer now, and his whole body tensed.

"I want an apology," Hermione repeated, fixing him with a defiant stare. She faltered a little when she realised there was only a few inches between them but she wasn't about to let him go.

Draco tried hard to ignore her delicate fingers on his skin and the fact that their noses were almost touching. He sighed, annoyed when he realised the action made her hair move and he found that quite charming. He needed to get her away from him. He would have to give her what she wanted.

"Fine," the wizard grinded his teeth, matching her stare. "I apologise for my behaviour yesterday."

"Thank you," Hermione nodded quietly, oblivious that the action caused some of her hair to touch his forehead. He noticed that she seemed to relax, and she almost smiled at him. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Draco didn't answer her and wondered why she was still holding his face. His gaze wondered down to her lips for a second before he realised his mistake and looked back up to her questioning eyes. She'd seen it and he cursed himself for being such an idiot. Hermione glanced down at his mouth then, but allowed her hazel stare to linger on them. She tilted her head slightly, but a noise behind Draco stopped her from doing anything else.

Hermione's eyes shot over to the pretty blonde standing by his staircase and she couldn't stop her brow from creasing at the sight. Draco didn't need to turn around to know who had made the inopportune sound and his eyes clenched close as he felt the awkwardness smother him. He frowned when Granger pulled away from him with an unreadable expression on her face. Hermione judged the situation and instantly mastered a mask of indifference.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Hermione looked over to Penny after a long pause, and Draco frowned at her words. "I had to talk to Malfoy about work-

"Oh Merlin," the blonde witch gasped, and Draco cringed at her voice. "You're Hermione Granger. Draco, you didn't mention that you worked with Hermione Granger!"

"Didn't he?" Hermione faked her offence. "Well he's been a little forgetful recently."

"Miss Granger," Penny continued, walking closer to the muggle-born. "It is such a pleasure. Is there any chance I could have your autograph?"

"Of course you can," the Auror's voice was laced with false kindness, but Penny seemed oblivious. Hermione made a silent promise to herself that if the blonde witch took another step closer she would hex her to oblivion. She dared a glance at Draco who was not even bothering to hide his discomfort. "I'll give one to Malfoy on Monday and he can give it to you next time he sees you."

"That's so kind of you," Penny grinned enthusiastically, ignorant to the tension between her date and the other witch.

"Penny," Draco finally broke his silence, eyeing the blonde woman with impatience. "Could you wait in the other room? This is confidential-

"That's not necessary," Hermione interrupted him. "I'll leave you to it."

"No, that's fine," Penny grinned at the other witch, and Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll see you in a minute. It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Granger."

"Likewise," the Auror lied, eyeing her retreating form with a raised brow. She looked over to Draco who was eyeing her with irritated eyes.

"Granger-

"I should leave," Hermione said, making her way over to his fireplace.

It took every inch of his control to stop himself from uttering the word 'stay' to her. He watched her leave, biting his tongue and acknowledging that Monday was going to be worse than a weekend with Voldemort. When she disappeared in a whirlwind of green flames, he raked his finger through his blond hair.

"Fucking hell," Draco cursed under his breath, taking a few moments to understand what had just happened. He could have analysed it for hours, days even, but it would have never made sense. Her body had been an inch away from his. Her lips had been a breath away. Had she moved her head before Penny had intruded, or had he imagined that? Was that action even necessary if she had? What would have happened if his dull date hadn't stuck her bloody oar in? He didn't know what to think.

What he did know was that they had made a breakthrough with the case. _She _had made a breakthrough. They actually had something to work with, and that calmed him to a significant extent. His frustration leaked out of him and he found that he really wasn't in the mood to fuck a random girl's brains out now. Firstly, that little incident with Granger was screwing with his brain, and secondly this revelation with the murders had relaxed him enough that he didn't need to. He was composed now. Granger's behaviour might have confused him, but he finally had some good news to concentrate on.

With another curse, he headed out of his living room, figuring Penny was waiting in the other living room. She was sat on one his sofas, apparently still buzzing from meeting the one and only Hermione Granger. When she noticed him, she rose from her seat but he stopped her before she got too close.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Draco informed her bluntly. "There's a problem at work and I need to leave."

"Oh, okay," the blonde witch failed to hide her disappointment as she grabbed her bag. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Sure," Malfoy lied, leaving the room just in case she was excepting a goodnight kiss. No, he wouldn't be seeing her again.

He waited until he heard the familiar roar of the Floo before he ventured back into his sitting room. He collapsed in his couch, grateful for his solitude. He grabbed Boot's work on the wards and took a closer look at them. His eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep on the sofa.

The last thing that stained his brain before sleep took him was how fucking tense work was going to be on Monday.

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* * *

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Hermione groaned to herself when she walked out of her fireplace. She ignored the desire to bang her head repeatedly against her wall and instead kicked her coffee table with a childish huff. Crookshanks stirred from his slumber when his owner started cursing under her breath. She flopped down next to her ginger pet and folded her arm across her chest, aware of the curious glances the intelligent creature was giving her.

"Don't ask," Hermione muttered, deciding that a glass of Baileys would make her drowsy enough to fall asleep. Merlin knew she needed some rest.

She refused to analyse what had just happened at Malfoy's house. If she analysed it, that meant it was relevant, which it most certainly was not. Nope. Nothing had even happened so what did she care? If someone had asked her what had happened, what could she say? Her and Malfoy had stood close together for all of a few seconds. Big bloody deal. It was barely even a happening at all. It was laughable.

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* * *

.

Narcissa watched her son closely as he sat opposite her, downing his third firewhiskey in an hour. He had done nothing but moan and curse since he had arrived, and even though she had asked what was wrong several times, he was refusing to talk to her. She knew her son well enough to know he wasn't going to tell her anything today. Instead, she changed the subject to something that made her cheerful. Her birthday ball.

"You have remembered that it's my birthday in two weeks, haven't you?" The witch eyed her son expectantly.

"How could I forget?" Draco snorted, shooting his mother a bored glance. "Saturday night, lots of people, most of which you don't really know and I can't stand."

"That's the one," Narcissa smiled at her son. "I assume you'll be bringing some boring bimbo again. And don't think I don't know about your date last night-

"Merlin forbid anything get past you-

"I'm a little offended you didn't ask me to set you up," his mother told him. "Blaise has worst taste in women than you. If you're going to be a womanising man then at least pick a girl with a bit of dignity. The Greendove daughter is a moronic harlot-

"Then you'll be pleased to know that nothing happened," Draco informed his mother, knowing that if she thought he had slept with her she would have harped on about it for the remainder of his visit.

"Really?" Narcissa eyed her son sceptically. "Dare I ask why?"

"Breakthrough at work," the wizard stated simply. It wasn't strictly a lie. "Had to call it off."

"You found something?"

"Well, technically," Draco replied, and his mother noticed the slight change to his tone. "Granger found something. Turns out Goyle knew whoever killed him. It narrows things down a little."

"That's good news," his mother grinned at him. "Hermione is a very bright girl."

"Sure," Draco shrugged, pouring himself another glass of firewhiskey.

"I'm glad you two are getting on better," Narcissa commented, missing her son's quiet snort. "I trust you can give her the invitation to my birthday? The poor owls are going to-

"What?" Draco snapped, eyeing his mother with displeasure. "You're inviting Granger?"

"Of course," the witch frowned at her son. "The girl removed my Trace. I owe her at least a few drinks and our infamous Malfoy hospitality-

"You don't even know her," Draco remarked, failing to hide his distaste for her admission.

"Well then this would be the perfect opportunity to get to know her," Narcissa watched her son inquisitively. "Are you two still getting on okay? Or have you been fighting again?"

"Everything's fine," Draco lied, wondering how much trouble he would get in for hexing his own mother right now, or just 'losing' Granger's invitation.

"Good," the witch smiled, although she was not entirely satisfied with his answer.

"I'm not entirely sure she will want to come, though," Draco remarked, staring at his mother with a serious stare. "She hardly enjoyed her last visit."

"Draco, that's not funny," Narcissa scolded, agitated by his comment. "You know I don't like talking about that."

"It was just an observation," the wizard defended.

"I am perfectly aware that Bellatrix was awful," Narcissa frowned, and Draco hated that her voice sounded sad. "And I know what she did to Hermione was bloody brutal so forgive me for trying to put right some of the mistakes this family had made!"

Draco's eyes widened at her little outburst. His mother rarely cursed and he couldn't remember the last time she had raised her voice. He had always admired her composure, but every now and then she would have a rant like she was now. He left his seat to sit next to her on the couch and offered her a reassuring pat on her back.

"Don't get yourself all worked up," he told his mother, praying she wouldn't start crying. "You know I won't do anything to ruin your birthday."

"Thank you," the witch grinned at her son, and her serene aura fell back into place. "Right, can you help me start owling the invitations?"

Draco stayed with his mother for an hour, assisting his mother attach far too many letters to several owls. He was about to leave when his mother handed him Granger's invitation. He waited until he was home before he read the little card, ignoring the charmed illustrations that surrounded the delicate words. He really could care less if there were butterflies and stars moving over the parchment.

_You are cordially invited to Narcissa Malfoy's Birthday Celebration._

_At Malfoy Manor on Saturday, October 2__nd__ at 7:00 p.m._

_Please bring this invitation with you as it will permit you to pass through the Floo. _

_This Invitation applies to Miss Hermione Granger and Guest. _

Draco didn't even realise he had scowled at the writing.

_And Guest? _

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* * *

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A/n: I know this is out pretty quick but I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I just wanted it out there! It's May 2nd so Happy Voldemort defeat day!!!!!! Just want to take a few seconds to thank some people!

**Luvtinka: **Thanks very much for your kind reviews!

**Booho: **Thanks! Hope I'm doing okay with representing their relationship! Harder than I thought so thanks for that!

**Mehr03: **Thanks for the luck! Need it!!

**Extremely ordinary: **Thanks for your review! I completely agreed with you so I hope I've made things a bit more interesting! I just didn't want my fic to be one those awful fluffy things where they fall in love within 2 days! I really enjoyed writing the last two chaps so hope you enjoyed!!

**Eau-bleu: **Thanks for your review it was very encouraging!!

**IGOTEAMEDWARD: **Thanks for your review!! And I giggled when I read your penname!! Love it!

**Eldarwen melwasul: **Thanks for your reviews! I have really enjoyed writing about Draco and Narcissa's relationship so I'm glad you enjoy it!!

**Dolcezza: **Thanks for your support! And I really appreciate you complimenting my grammar!!

**Jen: **Thanks for reviewing!! Glad you enjoyed!

**Blood-in-the-Stars: **Many thanks for the reviews!!

**Coeur de l'amour: **Thanks very much! I'm pleased you like my representation of them!

**Lovelydoves21: **That's good to hear!! My main target was to keep the characters realistic!

**AmberBrightEyes**: Glad you think so!! Hope it's still true!!

**Lucierob: **Thanks for your review!

**GreenEyedVixen: **Thanks! Glad you think so!!

**FemAguila: **Thanks!! Yeah I thought that too!

**Starlight-x-A-x: **Thank you so much! Nothing quite picks up an author like a good, long review!! I hope Hermione is less irritating now! And thanks for reading\1

**Litchibi: **Thanks for your review!

**Porcelain-Shadow: **Hello sugar!! Thanks for being such a lovely reviewer even if I have changed things up from usual stuff!! Always a pleasure to hear from you!

**Lady Enomis: **Thanks! I'm liking the Harry Potter vibe...more specifically the Draco vibe!!

**Dianna: **Thanks!! Yes can't beat a bit on irony!!

Think that's everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter because I bloody loved writing it!! It's always more fun once things get rolling and you add a dash of spice! Please Read and Review.

Once again, HAPPY VOLDEMORT DEFEAT DAY!!

Bex-chan


	8. Missing

**HUNTED**

**~.~**

Chapter 8: Missing

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On Monday morning Draco waited as patiently as he could for Granger to enter his office. When she was still absent after an hour, he started working. With every hour that passed he grew more agitated. Surely the Auror wasn't avoiding him? The woman had faced Death Eaters when she was a teenager for Merlin's sake! If there was one thing she had it was balls. After the third hour he asked Tilly if she had heard from Granger but the older witch didn't know anything. Draco was unsettled about their little incident on Saturday, and whilst he couldn't quite place why he felt uneasy about it, it pissed him off even more that she felt it necessary to avoid him.

He was naturally confrontational and he despised people who went out of their way to ignore a matter that needed addressing. He would have never thought that Granger would be the hiding type, so when she still hadn't shown up by lunchtime, his curiosity got the better of him. He went searching for her, starting with Mafalda's office.

"Have you seen Granger?" Draco burst into his superior's office without knocking.

"No," the witch admitted hesitantly. "Everything okay?"

"She hasn't turned up," he stated simply, failing to hide his irritation.

"She might be training the new Aurors," Mafalda suggested. "Check the Auror Department."

With nothing more than a nod, Draco headed up to the Auror Department but found that it was inaccessible. There were wards up, denying any visitors and Draco couldn't find Kingsley to find out why. He looked around the Ministry a little more but came up empty-handed. He went back to his office, muttering curses for the rest of the day. He really did not like that she was apparently avoiding him.

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* * *

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Tuesday had the same results, as did Wednesday, and by Thursday he actually realised his frustration had somehow turned into concern. There was a killer hunting muggle-borns on the loose and the most famous muggle-born of their time was missing. It didn't take a genius to figure out where his mind was going. For the first time since he had started working for the Ministry, Draco finished early and headed home.

He sat on his sofa, contemplating what to do and eyeing the little card Granger had given him with her address. He had rummaged for twenty minutes before he found the small piece of parchment and now all he could do was stare at it. After an hour of contemplating, he made up his mind and walked over to his fireplace.

Granger's home was similar to his, a modest townhouse with three stories and plush furnishings. He didn't recognise some of the items in her living room and figured them to be muggle items. He glanced around, looking for any sign of his colleague. He listened carefully for any signs of life before he finally wondered around her house. He checked every room, pausing for an unnecessary moment in her bedroom. He wasn't sure why. No, she definitely wasn't at home.

He went back to her living room and sat on her couch, running stressed fingers through his hair. He contemplated reporting her missing to the Ministry but decided he would wait a couple of hours to see if she would turn up. If she was avoiding him, he wanted to deal with it personally. But he didn't count on her couch being so comfy, and after fifteen minutes he had fallen asleep.

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* * *

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Hermione released a sigh when she apparated back to her bedroom. She quickly changed out of her training gear, which consisted of a very loose white shirt, tight black trousers and boots. It was perfect for duelling but she had long ago realised that the outfit looked similar to traditional fencing uniforms. She had pointed this out to her fellow Aurors when she had started her training four years ago but they had had no idea what she was talking about.

She changed into her black nightdress and threw on her dark blue robe to fight the Autumn chill. She decided she would head downstairs and watch a little television before she tore into her work. A little drama in Albert Square would raise her low spirits. The witch released a loud gasp when she found a certain Malfoy heir napping on her sofa. She wasn't sure whether she should feel suspicious or a little flattered that he was in her home, but decided that suspicious was the most appropriate. He was the last she had expected to find sleeping in her home, but a small part of her acknowledged that she had almost missed their routine at the Ministry.

She was still pissed off about Saturday night, although she wasn't really sure which aspect in particular had her so riled. She just hadn't liked what had happened, nor had she liked the tension she had felt when she'd left. She would have probably analysed it to death if she hadn't been so busy since then. The longer she watched his sleeping form, the more agitated she got with his unconscious presence. Just how long had he been here? Had he been wandering around her home? She had no choice but to give into her curiosity.

"Malfoy," Hermione prodded his arm, fixing him with an unimpressed look when he stirred a little. "Wake the hell up, Malfoy."

The blond wizard inhaled deeply and blinked a few times before he remembered where he was. He sat up quickly and eyed the witch warily, ignoring how uncomfortable he felt at the moment. At least he knew she was alive, and apparently she was wearing a rather fetching little dressing gown.

"What are you doing in my house, Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was deceptively calm as she regarded the offending man.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Draco asked her, but she seemed unfazed by his cold tone. "You haven't been in work all week-

"Why are you here?" Hermione repeated her question, her voice laced with distrust and impatience.

"I came looking for you," Malfoy hissed, rising from the couch. "If you've forgotten there is someone on a killing spree who happens to be partial to muggle-borns, so forgive me for wondering where the hell you have been!"

"_You_ were worried about _me_?" Hermione snorted at him, folding her arms across her chest.

"Don't flatter yourself," Draco rolled his eyes at her. "You should have told someone where you were-

"Well just where the hell did you think I was?" The witch watched him closely when he shuffled a little to his right.

"If I knew where you'd been I wouldn't be here," Draco commented. "I thought-

"You thought I was avoiding you after Saturday," Hermione finished, smirking at him when he didn't argue her theory. "Fat chance-

"I thought you might be missing," the wizard explained, taking a seat back on her couch. "I was-

"You were concerned-

"I was curious," Draco growled at her, shooting her a cautionary glare. "What the fuck was I supposed to think?"

Hermione regarded him silently for a moment before taking a seat next to him on the couch. There was a good two feet between them but it still felt too close. She hadn't really had the time to think about their almost-incident on Saturday, but her mind couldn't help but consider it now they were alone again.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while. "I was called away rather suddenly on Sunday. I assumed Kingsley would tell Mafalda."

"Where have you been?" Draco asked her, a little bitterness still present in his tone.

"Hogwarts," Hermione stated simply. "Minerva contacted the Ministry on Sunday. Do you remember Penelope Clearwater?"

"Rings a bell," Draco shrugged.

"She was a prefect when we were there," Hermione explained, relaxing back into her cushions. "She's the Muggle Studies professor there now. She's been receiving letters, death threats about her being a muggle-born. McGonagall thought it might just be some Slytherins messing around but when she heard about Goyle she figured it might be related."

"That explains where the other Aurors were," Draco commented, wondering why nobody had seemed to know where the she and the others had been.

"Yes," the witch nodded. "We decided it was best to set up some extra wards and have a look around the grounds to see if we could find anything. Champs and Volan have stayed behind to keep an eye on things."

"So we can resume work tomorrow?" Malfoy asked her, His office had been far too quiet since Monday. "We haven't discussed the relevance to the wards yet."

"Of course," Hermione offered him a polite smile. "I have the letters Penelope received too."

"So why didn't anyone in the Ministry know where you were?" Draco couldn't stop the suspicion in his voice.

"Kingsley knew," Hermione offered with a soft smile. She had just realised that she was having a semi-civilised conversation with Draco Malfoy in her house, and it was rather a bizarre concept to get her head around. "He's had a lot on his mind right now, I guess he was just too busy with his work."

"Right," the pale wizard rolled his eyes. As much as he respected the Minister for Magic, he had noticed that the man was not gifted in the memory department. "Did you find anything at Hogwarts?"

"Not a bloody thing," Hermione sighed, and Draco realised that she really did look rather drained. "I have a feeling that we might have to start meeting on the weekends if we want to make some progress with this. Things are starting to build up."

"That's fine," Draco nodded, noting that he worked most weekends anyway. At least they would get more work done if they did it together. He remembered then that his mother's birthday was almost a week away and her invitation was still at the office. "Although we will be busy a week Saturday."

"We?" Hermione glanced at him with confusion, and he offered her a lazy smirk.

"It's my mother's birthday on October 2nd," he told her, resting his elbows against his knees.

"Well that's fine," the witch replied with a blasé nod. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"She invited you," Draco breathed, annoyed that his own voice seemed amused by the concept. "Your invitation is in my office-

"I'm invited?" Hermione repeated, not attempting to hide her surprise. "Why?"

"It's her way of saying thank you for removing her Trace," the wizard supplied with a shrug.

"Well that's very polite of her," the Auror almost smiled. "But I don't think-

"I had a feeling you might decline," Draco stopped her, giving her a long look. "You should come, Granger. You could do with letting your hair down for one night-

"It's not really my scene," Hermione breathed, finding she felt uncomfortable with the topic.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Draco had meant it to be teasing comment but she seemed too serious to notice. "You enjoy yourself a little?"

"I'm sure that many bad things could happen," the witch commented in a low tone. She cringed after she said it, knowing she hadn't really intended to say anything. He was watching her skeptically but she refused to meet his eyes. The damage was done though; he could see something was bothering her.

"Look, Malfoy," she started slowly, shifting a little on the sofa so she was facing him. "I know that you and your mother have changed, but I can guess that many of the people there will be like your family-

"Like my family?" Draco echoed her comment, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, wondering how it was best to put what she wanted to say. "Pureblood families, and whilst I genuinely believe that you and your mother don't believe that muggle-borns are inferior anymore, some purebloods do."

Draco looked down at his clasped hands, resting between his parted knees. He had never really considered that she would probably be the only muggle-born at the celebration. He knew his mother would have never done that intentionally, she just happened to associate mainly with purebloods. As far as he knew, none of his mother's closest companions were prejudiced towards muggle-borns, but it was likely there would be some there. Even if there wasn't any blatant outrage for her presence at the ball, she would be looked at differently.

Still, he was sure it wouldn't be as bad as she imagined. She was a war hero and a renowned genius and she had earned a great deal or respect in the wizarding community. He had faith that his mother would have had the sense not to invite any extremists to her birthday. If anything it just steeled his resolve to have her attend, so he could prove that his family, and perhaps some others, didn't think that way anymore. He would certainly not stand for any behavior remotely related to Death Eater conduct, and he knew his mother would feel the same. She had seen enough of that and had done everything she could to ensure it never invaded her home again.

"Granger," Draco started carefully, still looking at his hands. "I can assure you that my mother wouldn't invite anyone who would act poorly towards you."

"I'm sure she wouldn't do anything intentionally," Hermione offered him a hesitant smile. "But I think there would still be a little discomfort with my presence and I really wouldn't want to make your mother feel awkward on her birthday-

"She is rather fond of you, Granger," Malfoy offered suddenly, looking up to her questioning eyes. "I'm not sure why. As far as I know you haven't met since the war-

"We haven't-

"But she seemed quite insistent that you should come," Draco finished, watching her expectantly. "I think it would mean a lot to her if you came. And I can assure that if anyone offends you that they will be dealt with accordingly."

Hermione released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. She had to admit she was a little flattered that Narcissa had offered her an invitation to her birthday, and she was also a little curious about how a very expensive and extravagant event would be like. The man before was convincing, and for some reason she trusted him to ensure her safety should some pureblood moron decide to mock her heritage. Against her better judgement, she realised she quite wanted to go and she sighed in submission.

"Alright," she nodded hesitantly, missing his victorious smirk. "I suppose it could be interesting."

"I think I can assure you that you will enjoy yourself," Malfoy drawled, leaning back comfortably into her sofa. "My mother may be a little random at times, but she knows how to throw a party."

"Okay," Hermione forced another grin in his direction but she was still a little apprehensive about it. "I guess it will be an experience."

"You'll be fine," Draco told her flippantly, realising he had forgotten to tell her she could bring a date. Perhaps he would leave that out for now. He attempted to rise from his seat. "I should probably go."

"Before you do," the witch placed a hand n his arm to stop him, missing his wary look at her gesture. "Can I ask you something?"

"Make it quick, Granger," Malfoy told her impatiently. "I would like some rest before work."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, removing her hand from his arm. "I was just wondering if you're scared at all?"

"About what?"

"About the killer," the Auror verified. "We both know that we are obvious targets. I was just wondering if you've felt a little scared at some point?"

"No," Draco told her honestly, regarding her curiously. "The Ministry has substantial security measures and so does my house. Have you?"

He saw the concern flash across her features but she quickly hid it. He genuinely didn't feel threatened at all, but then he acknowledged that he had a tendency to just ignore certain things that bothered him. He was far too proud to consider himself a victim, no matter how bad the circumstances were. He knew he was a bloody good wizard, and he had faith in the wards he had set up. Granger had never really appeared to be concerned about her well-being but he knew she had a tendency to overanalyse everything, and this would be no exception.

"No," she lied reluctantly, and Draco recognised that bloody Gryffindor optimism on her features. "I'm sure everything will okay."

Malfoy didn't really know how to respond to that s ohe simply observed her as she forced yet another smile. He wondered briefly if she had anyone she could stay with if anything did go wrong. Potter was off trying to track the killer, Weasley was in Romania and he didn't really know anyone else she would consider a friend. He knew that she had been quite friendly with Weasley's sister but he had no idea where she was. He considered offering her the notion that she was free to Floo to his home if she ever felt concerned, but he decided against it.

"I'm leaving," Draco told her bluntly, wondering why she also stood up after he had. She followed his steps to her fireplace. He helped himself to a handful of her Floo powder and found himself lingering for her to say something.

"Thank your mother for the invite," she said awkwardly. "It really was very kind of her."

"You can thank her yourself," Draco shrugged.

"Thank you, too," she said quickly, nervously tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "For thinking to look for me-

"Well, you're not much use to me missing, Granger," Malfoy told her shortly, finding this situation far too awkward for his liking. She certainly didn't help the matter when she leaned up to peck his cheek. He knew she only meant it to be a friendly gesture but his entire body tensed at the action. She noticed his discomfort about it and grimaced about her mistake. Fuck, he needed to leave. "See you tomorrow, Granger."

"Goodnight," Hermione muttered, but it was drowned out by the roar of the Floo. She rolled her eyes at her herself and slapped a hand against her forehead as she headed up to her bedroom.

_You bloody idiot. _

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* * *

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Hermione wondered into the Ministry still feeling more than a little embarrassed about several things. First, she had tried to talk to Malfoy about her concerns on the killer. Yes, she had lied and said that it wasn't bothering her, but she knew she wasn't a good liar by any stretch of her imagination. She had a feeling it was something to do with that damn Gryffindor integrity that had been drilled into her at Hogwarts. Second, she had only gone and kissed him! Yes it was only on the cheek and she did that with Ron and Harry all the time, but this was Draco Malfoy. You only had to look at the man to know he wouldn't be comfortable with that sort of thing.

Just what the hell had she been thinking?

Clearly she hadn't been thinking. It had just been an impulse. Her and Malfoy had simply reached a level of civility and she was missing Ron and Harry a little. Yes, that was all. She was used to pecking her male companions on the cheek when they parted ways. It was a simple slip, an innocent mistake, but the look on Malfoy's face afterwards had warned her not to try it again. Some people just weren't as affectionate as her and her best friends.

She offered him a tentative grin when she entered his office but he just looked back down to his work as she took her seat. She was suddenly thrown back to her childhood memories and she nervously toyed with her hands in her lap.

Draco glanced up at her when he heard her fidgeting and realised she was looking notably nervous today. Still, nervous or not, she was wearing that skirt he was particularly fond of today. Either she had bought it in a smaller size or the garment was simply designed to be teasingly-tight around her backside. He had noticed it the moment she had walked in and knew he would sneak a look at her whenever she stood up. She was also wearing that flimsy blouse again, the one where he could just make out the outline of her black bra. Last time it had been a red bra.

"Granger," Draco spoke finally, ignoring that twitch in his trousers. "Did you bring the letters that girl got at Hogwarts?

"Oh, yes," Hermione muttered, bending down to retrieve them from her bag. Draco stifled a groan when he glimpsed a little more of the skin of her chest. Was she doing it on purpose? Damn her for not just bringing her bag into her lap. "Have the Traces been delivered yet?"

"No," Draco managed to mumble as she continued to shuffle for the documents. "I would rather have a look at the letters anyway and then discus the wards."

"That sounds like a good idea," the witch placed the documents on the desk in front him. She was oblivious to his clenched jaw and irritated fingers snatching up the parchments. Even he seemed to miss the fact that his body had been affected by her presence.

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* * *

.

They worked steadily until lunch, ignoring the tense moments that seemed to sneak between them at certain times. Hermione did her best to make conversation but more often than not her colleague would just offer her a brief nod or a grunt. She could see he was little edgy, and wondered if it was because of her behaviour at her house. Then again, it could have just been because he was Malfoy.

They separated for lunch. Draco popped to Malfoy Manor to assist his mother with delivering more invitations to her birthday and Hermione ate her lunch in the Auror Office and helped the trainees with some more of their preparation. When the hour was up, they met each other in the corridor by circumstance and headed back to Draco's office.

Immediately, Malfoy new there was something wrong. When they had left, there had been parchments all over his desk from their work. Now all the sheets were in neat piles at the edges, and a single small piece of parchment waited for them ominously in the middle of the desk. Draco marched purposely into the room and snatched it up in his hand, reading it quickly. It was only short but his eyes lingered angrily on it before he handed it over to Hermione. Her eyes widened as she read the nine simple words, written in a charmed handwriting she had come to dread.

_The Ministry is not as safe as you think. _

"What the hell?" Hermione muttered as she reread the small note and looked up at Draco, who was looking notably agitated. "What is that supposed to mean? And how the hell did it get into your office?"

"Fuck if I know," Malfoy growled, tearing the note from her fingers to analyse it again. "Maybe-

But he was cut off by a distant scream and then lots of movement outside his office. The whole Ministry practically shook as the countless footsteps all stampeded in a particular direction. He could hear confused shouts and panicked voices rippling through the corridors. Hermione was first to jolt into action but he followed her closely as they left his office to follow the chaos.

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* * *

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a/n: r+r please! I apologise that this chapter is a little shorter than normal but I'm hoping the content was sufficient. Leave me your thoughts!

Bex-chan


	9. Intruder

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 9: Intruder.

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Hermione pushed her way through the confused crowd, listening to everyone's mumbled questions and theories with the hope of understanding what had happened. From what she could tell, everyone was just as confused as she was. Most of the Ministry staff were simply lingering in the halls of their respected departments while the more senior staff tried to find out what was going on. Still, they were in the way and Hermione could feel herself becoming flushed when she had to shove aside someone who was apparently deaf.

Draco watched the back of Hermione's head as she powered through the crowd. She was parting the sea of people in her haste and he followed her closely, glancing down and realising at some point she must have removed her heels. The horde of witches and wizards grew thicker and Draco knew it meant they were getting close to the catalyst of all this fuss. He had just registered they were in the Department for Magical Games and Sports when a familiar voice shouted his name.

"Draco!"

Malfoy glanced around, refusing to stop and lose Granger as she rushed towards the commotion. He saw who it was then, and Blaise pushed his way through so he could walk alongside his friend.

"Blaise?" Draco greeted the dark wizard with confusion. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Meeting," Blaise explained, trying to keep up as the blond wizard followed Granger. "They asked me to come and discus sponsorship for the Qudditch Cup."

"Right," Malfoy muttered, quickening his pace a little when he realised the distance between him and Granger had increased.

"What the hell's going on?" Blaise asked his friend, and Draco could tell his normally stoic friend was a little panicked.

"I don't know," Draco admitted, deciding that it was best his friend remain with the crowd. "Blaise, stay here. I need to help Granger."

He heard Blaise offer a quick 'okay' but it was drowned out by a man vomiting to his left. He could smell it now, the stench of blood. He realised then there were people crowded around a particular office and he watched as a wizard helped an hysterical witch try and move away from that office. The people around him all looked disturbed and horrified and he moved closer to Hermione's back as they got closer.

"Move," Hermione demanded as she tried to squeeze through them, and finally they reached the room. She felt a scream build in her throat but it dissipated when she choked on a gasp instead. She felt Draco brush past her but she barely registered it. There was just too much for her brain to absorb.

Draco's face scrunched up in alarm as he tried to understand the scene before him. A wizard, who he was quite sure he recognised, was sprawled on the floor in front of his desk. Dead. Very dead. There were various items scattered over the floor, evidently from some kind of struggle. On the wall behind him, in large and bloody letters was painted the word 'Mudblood.' Draco's eyes lingered on the letters for a moment, noting that the word had been smeared over Quidditch posters. Malfoy then found his eyes returning to the battered victim,whose eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling. His shirt was ripped down the centre and parted to his arms so Draco could clearly make out the V etched on his chest in fresh slices.

Another one.

He glanced desperately around the room, looking for indications of anything. Perhaps another note? But no, there was nothing. Just a scene of pure chaos that screamed mockingly at him. His stare wondered over to the name carved on the door and he cringed.

_Justin Finch-Fletchley _

Granger's friend. She had met Justin a few times for lunch since they had worked together. He knew she had known him at Hogwarts and they had become friendly again since she had returned to London, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he considered her grief. He found that he didn't like the thought of her being sad. He looked over to her then, expecting her to be inconsolable, but instead she just stood next to him, completely still. He eyed her frozen face, noting her lips were slightly parted in shock and that her eyes would snap in another direction every few seconds.

His eyes went back to the bloody scene, inevitably settling on Justin's body. The questions came then, flooding his brain with warnings of a pending migraine. How the hell had someone broken into the Ministry and managed to kill someone without anyone noticing? How had they managed to put a note in his office too? It just wasn't possible. Sure, it was lunch and a lot of the staff would have left their offices, but someone must have seen something. He realised then that Granger hadn't said a word and looked back over to her.

"Fucking hell," Draco breathed, and he watched her flinch at his voice.

Whatever trance she'd been in had been broken by his words. He tensed when he felt her small hand clutch his wrist as she slowly turned to him. She was gripping his hand desperately and he saw the pure panic in her eyes as her stare clicked with his. Her lower lip was trembling and she was choking on small, quick breaths. She looked weak on her feet and he was just about to offer her a steadying hand when she spoke.

"Draco," Hermione whispered, giving his wrist a quick squeeze as she obviously struggled with her words. "What do I do?"

All the Auror training she'd had seemed to leak out of her as her body tried to accommodate her shock. She was vaguely aware of the ever-building herd of people just outside the door but they were blurry. Only Draco seemed to be a solid mass and she clung to him for that reason alone. He was watching her with suppressed concern as he thought about her words. She was asking him what to do? He didn't have a clue! She was the Auror. She was the one who'd been trained to deal with such situations. She needed to regain control. He needed her to come back to reality.

"Snap out of it, Granger," Draco scolded her, and it seemed to do the job. She blinked a few times and tore her hand away from him. Her face morphed into an impressive expression of determination, and she quickly glanced at Justin again before she turned to the crowd.

They were lingering outside, all too scared to venture over the threshold and eyeing Hermione with an obvious desire for instructions or order. He watched her as she walked out of the gory office and he joined her just outside the room. He couldn't quite bring himself to look away from her as she steadied herself and looked at the horde, who were all talking in terrified voices.

"Everyone," Hermione raised her voice, but it clearly wasn't enough. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

That about did it, and a hundred pairs of fearful and confused eyes settled on Hermione. She noticed then that the other Aurors were making their way towards her and she felt a small wave of relief. Her eyes swept over the crowd, recognising some of the faces before she settled on Wilkie Twycross.

"Wilkie," Hermione called over to him. "All of the Floo connections and visitor entrances have to be closed _immediately. _I will be contacting the other Aurors to come back but I want nobody else getting in or out of the Ministry. Quickly!"

The pale man ran through the mass of people and Hermione made sure he was gone before she continued.

"I want all the Department Heads to round up their staff," the witch shouted, just so she knew they would hear her. "And you are all to head straight to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and wait in the main room!"

Draco watched her with a bizarre fascination as she yelled her orders. Had the circumstances been a little less dire, he would have smirked at her control and authority.

"I want all visitors to go to the Wizengamot," Hermione continued. "Everyone is going to be tested for Polyjuice potion and nobody is leaving until everyone can prove where they have been in the last hour!"

She turned to her fellow Aurors then, signalling that she needed their help.

"Padfoot," Hermione addressed them. " Take Castor and start checking all the staff and don't let anyone out until you are certain they have nothing to with it-

"Nothing to do with what?" Padfoot asked the woman over the heads of the other people. Already wizards and witches were heading down to the second level as she had told them.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley has been murdered," the witch's voice shook a little as she spoke. Draco seemed to be the only one who noticed though, and she quickly went back to her orders. "Leandra, you start testing the visitors and I will join you in a minute. Take Jason with you."

The female Auror offered a quick nod before she disappeared with the trainee, ushering people out of the department as she went.

"Savage," Hermione called to the tall wizard. "I need you to tell Champs and Volan to come back from Hogwarts and then get Harry and the others to come back before you help Padfoot. Leave Twycross in charge of the Transport Department and tell him that _only_ the Aurors are allowed to enter the Ministry. Make sure he understands that nobody leaves until I say so."

The crowd started to move away from her, guided by the Aurors moving them along. She hated that she had so little Auror staff available but it would have to do before the others arrived. And just where the hell was Kingsley? She released a shaky breath and then headed back into Justin's office. She muttered a quick incantation to seal the room so that it wouldn't get contaminated and let her eyes linger on Justin's corpse for a painful moment. The tears were heavy behind her eyes but they would have to wait.

Draco raised an eyebrow when she went back into the office but he left her to it. She'd proven she knew what she was doing but he wondered if perhaps she was coping okay. He noticed then that Blaise was hanging back a little, waiting for him.

"Blaise," Malfoy called, nearing his friend. "You should head down to the Wizengamot."

"This is fucked up," the wizard commented, watching Draco with barely-concealed alarm. "How the hell could someone break into the Ministry and kill someone?"

"No idea," Draco shrugged, realising that Hermione had left the office now and was walking towards him and Blaise. He couldn't stop the look of concern that crossed his face as she raked her stressed fingers through her hair. "You okay, Granger?"

"I'm fine," Hermione frowned at him, and he realised she was still in her authoritative state. Her eyes lingered thoughtfully on Draco for a moment before they glanced over at Blaise. Malfoy had mentioned him a few times in her presence and she knew they were close friends, or as close as two Slytherins could ever be.

Draco watched her closely as she seemed to mull over something. He'd seen that expression a few times before, when she was considering the different outcomes of a situation.

"Malfoy," Hermione started slowly. "I need you to go and help the Aurors. I need more people to help."

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Clearly she trusted him to a certain extent to allow that, and he had to admit it was a good thought. He liked that she trusted him. Her eyes then glimpsed back at Blaise and he could see the argument continuing in her head.

"Zabini," the witch greeted hesitantly. "I trust you know how to test for Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yes," Blaise nodded, eyeing her with confusion.

"Okay," Hermione's eyes went back to Draco. "After you have tested him he can assist you. I trust your judgement on him. The same goes for Mafalda but nobody else."

Draco's eyes widened a little more and he fought hard to hide his gratitude for her. He couldn't quite believe she trusted his judgement. Perhaps she didn't really, it was clear she was short-staffed and desperate. Either way, he was grateful. This was going to take hours and he'd rather have something to do. He'd never been one for sitting around without a purpose.

"Okay," Draco offered her a nod. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to examine Justin," Hermione's faltered as she spoke, and Draco resisted the urge offer some sort of comfort. "I need to find Kingsley too-

"I'm here, Hermione," the Minister called to her, approaching her with a sad expression. "Padfoot has just explained the situation."

"Kingsley," Hermione breathed, relaxing a little in the man's presence. "I've sent everyone to floor two to be tested-

"Padfoot explained that too," Kingsley gave the witch a reassuring pat when he reached her. His eyes wondered over to Blaise and Draco and he offered the two familiar faces a quick nod. "You two should head down and do as Hermione has asked."

Malfoy shot the witch another concerned look before him and Blaise left the two alone. Kingsley waited until they had left the department before he gave Hermione a small smile of gratitude.

"You have done very well," the Minister assured her. "I'm impressed with your actions-

"I did what was necessary," Hermione stopped him, and the older wizard saw a pained look capture her features for no more than a second. "We should start analysing the scene-

"Hermione," Kingsley's warm voice stopped her as she headed back to the office. "I know that you and Justin were quite friendly. Would you like a minute-

"I'm fine," the Auror said quickly. "We should just get to work. You know that any traces left behind will get weaker the longer we hesitate."

"Alright," his voice was comforting nonetheless. "Let's get started then."

Hermione instantly started casting spells to sense dark magic or strange objects. The killing curse was heavy in the air but she was looking for something else, anything that could be signature. Her eyes roamed over to the word smeared in blood and she felt a small pang in her chest. It was getting a little too personal now and she was scared. But she didn't have time to be scared. She needed to concentrate.

.

* * *

.

"Well," Blaise breathed once they were a clear distance away from Hermione and Kingsley. "This had certainly turned into an interesting business trip-

"I can't believe this," Draco growled as they headed down to the lower floor. "The Ministry is meant to be safe."

"So, who was it?" Blaise asked, unable to deny his curiosity. "I know she said the name but I didn't quite catch it."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the pale wizard sighed. "Muggle-born. He was in our year at Hogwarts-

"You think it's the same guy that got Goyle and the others?"

"I know it is," Draco scowled as he remembered seeing Justin's body. "He had the V mark."

"Shit," Blaise frowned. "So this is getting rather serious then?"

"So it would seem," Malfoy's face hardened as he considered his friend's word. He had been certain that the Ministry was safe, but clearly he was wrong. "He's made a mistake, though. There are too many witnesses here. He'll have made a mistake and if he has, Granger will find it."

"She was cool before," Blaise remarked, and Draco refused to change his expression. "I have to give the woman credit for how she handled the situation."

Draco wanted to point out that her actions had been particularly impressive when you considered that she had just had to deal with her friend's murder and somehow calm down the whole Ministry at the same time. She had only faltered for a second and then she had managed to regain order. She had done brilliantly and he realised, with a little reluctance, that he was proud of her. He could have told Blaise this, but he didn't.

"And it was decent of her to let us help," Blaise continued, turning his eyes to give Draco a strange look. "And you failed to mention that she's gotten hot-

"What?" Malfoy shot his friend an uncomfortable glare. "Do you really think that's appropriate considering the circumstances?"

"I'm just making an observation," Blaise shrugged, watching his friend closely. "Forgive me for trying to lighten the mood, and I didn't miss those looks you were giving her-

"What looks?" Draco really didn't like where this was going. If anyone knew how to read him it was Blaise.

"You know what I'm talking about," the dark wizard persisted, and Draco felt his lip twitch. "Do you-

"Be careful, Blaise," Malfoy warned his companion. "My relationship with Granger is completely professional-

"Whatever you say, mate," a smirk played with Blaise's lips, and Draco would have admired the condescending grin if it wasn't directed at him. "Remind me to bring this up again when some psychopath hasn't caused a scene."

Draco was about to snarl back some sarcastic reply but he simply grunted as they entered the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. Yes, it was the biggest department, but with all Ministry staff and visitors crammed into the area, it looked rather small. A frightened roar echoed across the old walls as the various people tried to move into their respective rooms. He spotted Padfoot, Savage and Castor guiding everyone and decided he would ask them what they needed help with.

He wondered how Granger was doing.

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* * *

.

Hermione had been working about thirty minutes when Champs and Volan returned from Hogwarts. The two men had always been so calm but they had looked jittery when she'd sent them to help the others to deal with the crowd. After another ten minutes Harry and the others showed up and Hermione now felt they had gained enough control of the situation and she left Harry, Terry and Kingsley to finish working on the scene.

She'd cast as many spells that she could think of to reveal traces of dark magic and then more spells to try and show any physical items left behind. She had located Justin's wand and she had established that he hadn't used it since the morning. All of her magic use had started to have an effect on her and she started to feel exhausted, but she knew she had to go down to help the Aurors deal with everyone. She contemplated having a quick break to gather her bearings and have a moment to think about Justin's death, but decided against it and headed straight to the second floor with Neville, Dean, Horace and Korvin.

She spoke to everyone who had been working on Justin's department and calculated that there was a thirty minute time-frame between when his last colleague had seen him, and he had been found. Hermione had been really disappointed with that news, the killer could have easily made it out of the Ministry before anyone had noticed the murder. It had been lunch time so there would have been countless people using the Floo network. In thirty minutes he could have easily planted the letter on Draco's desk, killed Justin and would have had time to spare before he left.

It wasn't until six o'clock that the Aurors started to let people go home. By the time eleven o'clock came round there were only thirty staff members and twenty visitors left to test and they had all been moved to the main room. Everyone was exhausted and she was relieved when she realised they were almost finished. Four people had been sent to Kingsley for further questioning when they hadn't been able to confirm their whereabouts, but Hermione knew it would only take a bit of Veritaserum to find out they were innocent. The witch wasn't getting her hopes up. She was sure the killer had made it out of the Ministry.

"Hermione," Harry's voice broke her thoughts just as she told another visitor they could go home. "We've finished with Justin-

"Did you find anything?" Hermione's voice was desperate.

"No," her best friend frowned at her apologetically. "Just the same as the others. The killing curse and then the V, although that graffiti was different."

"I know," Hermione cringed as she pictured the image in her head. "I just can't believe he came to the Ministry. This is really bad Harry."

"Terry and I are going to continue tracking," the wizard told her. "But the others will stay here. The Ministry needs more Aurors to keep an eye on things."

"Good idea," Hermione nodded. "I'll continue working with the Traces. I know Malfoy and I haven't had much luck but I think I might be close to something."

"That's fine," Harry agreed. "I've spoken to Kingsley and he's going to make sure the Floo network has some extra security measures put in place. Are you and a couple of the others okay to finish up here if I leave?"

"Of course," the witch offered her friend a forced smile. "It shouldn't take much longer now."

"Thank you," Harry smiled at her. "You did really well today."

He pulled her in for a brief hug and she watched him go. She asked Padfoot and Savage to finish up with her and told the others they could leave. She looked around for Draco who was finishing testing another staff member for Polyjuice potion. She waited until he had dismissed the worker before she offered him an appreciative smile. She noticed that he had rolled up his sleeves and his hair was a little tousled but otherwise he looked fine, if perhaps a bit tired.

"You and Blaise can go home now," Hermione told him. "We can take it from here."

"Are you sure?" Draco arched an eyebrow at her. She really did look exhausted and stressed. Her arms were folded protectively across her chest and her clothes were rumpled. She had thrown her hair in a rushed ponytail but some stubborn strands were framing her face.

"Yes, it's fine," the Auror assured him, nervously tucking some hair behind her ear. "We shouldn't be much longer than an hour now."

"Have you had any luck?" He wasn't sure what time it was he could tell it was getting late. He was shattered so he could only imagine how she was feeling.

"No," Hermione admitted sadly. "Kingsley's kept aside a few people but I doubt anything will come of it. He had more than enough time to leave."

"Bugger," the wizard frowned. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"We'll be fine," the witch nodded again. "You've been here fourteen hours, you need a break-

"So do you," he told her stiffly. He could tell she was still dealing with the shock of discovering her friend. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?"

"Everything's fine here," Hermione sighed, but then a thought crossed her mind. She looked up to him, deciding if he would do it for her and whether she could bring herself to ask. "But I wonder if you could do me a favour?"

"Sure," Draco nodded, scowling when she seemed to think twice before she continued. "What do you need?"

"This isn't for the Ministry," Hermione explained, nervously glancing away from him. She regretted her decision to ask him a question now. It was still Malfoy. "This is a favour for me-

"Yes, that's fine," Draco snapped, eyeing her fidgety actions with irritation. He would have hoped by now that she would be able to ask him something without turning into an anxious mess. "Just spit it out, Granger."

"Well," the witch's voice was hesitant, but another sharp look from Draco forced her to continue. "Could you possibly stop at my house before you head home? Crookshanks needs feeding."

"Your cat?" Draco eyes narrowed as he considered her. He hadn't been expecting that. "That's it?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, glancing away from him. She noticed that Blaise was watching them with an amused expression on his face but she looked back to Malfoy when he rolled his eyes at her. "Would that be okay?"

"Granger," Malfoy breathed, and Hermione blinked when his breath cooled her face. "I'm sure I can manage that. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

"I'm sure," the Auror allowed a little smile to grace her lips, and he hoped that it was genuine this time. "The cat-food is under the sink-

"It's not going to attack me or anything is it?" It had been a serious question but Draco couldn't help but smirk when she offered him a delicate giggle.

"No, he's fine,"Hermione assured him. And then she looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite place. "Thank you."

"It's just feeding an animal," Draco rolled his eyes at her. "I think-

"Not for that," the witch stopped him, unsure where to look and apparently choosing her words carefully. "For everything you've done today. You've worked really hard and I appreciate it-

"Don't mention-

"And for calming me down in Justin's office," she finished, glancing up at him nervously. "Really, thank you."

"It's fine," the pale wizard shrugged awkwardly. He wondered then if she'd had any time to herself. "Are you-

"Hermione," Savage's voice stopped him and a groan died in his throat. "Could you help me with something?"

"I'll be there now, Savage," Hermione told the other Auror before she turned back to Draco. "I really should finish up here. You should get out of here while you can. Thanks again, Malfoy."

"Sure," Draco nodded as she wondered back over to the remaining staff. He headed over to Blaise and scowled when he noticed his friend was shooting him knowing looks. "Wipe that look off your face, Blaise-

"I didn't say a word," the wizard shrugged. "So, what's news?"

"We can leave," Draco explained, and they started walking towards the Floo network. "I've had enough of this place."

"Well at least it's Saturday tomorrow," Blaise commented. "You want to meet for a drink?"

"I have to help my mother start preparing for her birthday," Draco told him. "Why don't you come over to the manor and give us a hand?"

"Sure," the dark wizard man nodded as he neared his fireplace. "Are you heading straight home, or do you fancy a quick firewhiskey at mine?"

"I'm going straight home," Draco lied, deciding the last thing he needed was Blaise teasing him about going to Granger's first. "It's been a long day and I need some sleep."

"Fair enough," Blaise nodded as he situated himself in one of the fireplaces. "See you tomorrow, mate."

Draco nodded as his friend disappeared in a thunder of green flames. He went to the fireplace to the right and shouted Hermione's address and headed straight to the kitchen. He located the cat food and poured the biscuits into the small bowl by her back-door. No sooner had he finished did a messy ball of ginger fur tumble into the kitchen and head straight for the food. Draco wrinkled his nose at the clumsy, marmalade cat but petted him softly anyway when Crookshanks gave him a curious nudge.

Happy that he had given the creature enough, he headed back towards the fireplace but stopped and lingered in her living room. He sat on her couch, telling himself that he had been on his feet all day and he just needed a minute to relax. But then what if Granger needed more help? The least he could do was make sure she arrived home okay. Had she even eaten today? His stomach rumbled just as thought had left a mark. He hadn't eaten since lunch at half past twelve and it was now pushing half eleven. He was sure Granger wouldn't mind if he helped himself to a sandwich.

So he did. And a glass of firewhiskey for that matter. And then he waited for Granger to return home, but his eyelids began to feel heavy.

.

* * *

.

It had actually taken Hermione and the other Aurors two hours to release all the people from the Ministry. She had offered to help Kingsley finish up his work but the Minister had refused and demanded she go home and get some rest. She'd been too tired to argue. On her lonely walk to the Floo network she finally let herself have a small cry. She's hadn't been close to Justin but she would notice his absence. They had been to lunch together a few times since she'd returned and he had always been pleasant and easy to get on with. She also cried because she was scared.

Yes, there had been many dark wizards trying to avenge Voldemort's death in the past four years, but this guy had been the most successful. He had killed five people and breached the Ministry. Clearly, he knew his shit. He was getting closer and even though she was worried, it also strengthened her determination. But for now, she just needed a break or she would lose her mind. She Flooed home and brushed away her tears when she realised that she wasn't alone.

Draco was asleep on her couch, still in a sitting position with his hand supporting his forehead. Hermione released a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp as she eyed him with confusion. She noticed the plate in front of him and raised an eyebrow when she realised he must have helped himself to some food. A smile tugged at her lips and she walked over to him.

She considered leaving him there to rest but decided that he probably wasn't a morning person and wouldn't like waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. Plus, she was little intrigued and wanted to find out just why he was still here.

"Malfoy," Hermione said softly, shaking his knee as his eyes slowly fluttered open. "Wake up."

Draco groaned his annoyance at being woken up and eyed the woman with tired eyes. He noticed that she had been crying and he frowned at her sad features. Still, she had a ghost of a smirk on her lips as she regarded him.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked him lightly as she knelt in front of him. "You didn't have to wait."

"I fell asleep," Draco told her defensively, watching her through his eyelashes.

"I can see that," the witch told him from her seat on the floor. "You know, if you're planning on making a habit of sleeping on my couch, I can show you how the telly works."

"Telly?" Draco repeated, shooting her a confused glance.

"Doesn't matter," she shrugged, still resting on her knees. He was towering over her a little but she didn't mind. He really did look tired. "Do you want to stay?"

"I should probably go," Draco told her, but made no move to leave. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione nodded, sensing that familiar tension settle between them again. "Thanks again for everything you did today."

"Sure," Malfoy frowned at her, and Hermione decided he still looked quite handsome when he frowned.

He felt the tension too and he wondered just why the hell he wasn't leaving. No, instead he found himself reaching out to stroke her cheek. It was a little damp under his fingers but he didn't pay that much attention when her hazel eyes snapped up at him in question. He knew it was probably him that started leaning in first but she followed soon afterwards. Fuck, he was so tired he didn't think to question why he was doing it.

Hermione felt his breath dance over her skin for the second time that day and she closed her eyes to relish the calming sensation. Her lips parted a little as she got closer to his mouth but they only connected for a the shortest of moments before they were interrupted.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Sorry! It's just not the right time for their first proper kiss! I have it all planned out and, as I keep saying, I refuse to rush this. Anyway I liked how this chapter turned out so I wanna know what you guys think. I think I got enough action and Dramione moments in there so I hope you are pleased! Also thanks very much for your amazing feedback for Chapter 8! Really appreciate it! And sorry again about the kind of cliffy and the fact that it's not a proper kiss.

Bex-chan


	10. Almost

**HUNTED**

**~.~**

Chapter 10: Almost

.

A cat's meow brought Draco screaming back to reality and he tore his hand away from Hermione's cheek like he'd been stung. He felt, more than saw, her snatch her face away from him, and he did the same. Hermione had pulled away so fast that she stumbled backwards and slammed her back into the coffee table, hissing through her teeth when a shuddering pain shot up her spine.

Draco righted himself and evaluated the situation with a quick reminder to hex himself later for being such an idiot. He watched Hermione as she reached around to nurse her aching back and he considered offering her a hand but decided that the distance was safer. Yes, distance was good.

She looked at him then, and he saw the embarrassment in her eyes. He realised he was staring at her, waiting for her to say something but he didn't care because she was doing the same. If ever he had thought there had been awkward silences between them before, this moment could have eaten them whole and had room to spare.

"I'm sorry," Hermione muttered quickly, her breathing a little erratic. "I'm just so tired-

"You've had a rough day," Draco told her sharply, frowning when she flinched at his voice.

"Yes," the witch nodded absently, rising from her seat on the floor.

He rose from her sofa, deciding he didn't like her standing over him. She wrapped her arms around herself and he noticed that her cheeks were still shiny with fresh tears after the day's events. She really had had an awful day. What the hell was his excuse?

"Do we need to talk about this?" Hermione asked suddenly, absently stroking her arm.

He tried not to cringe at the thought of discussing what they had _almost _done. He knew that he was the direct type. He liked things to be out in the open and he wanted things to be confronted, but with this, he wasn't so keen. He had no idea how he would even begin to discus it! What the hell could he say? What would she want him to say?

"No," he said simply, realising his tone sounded cruel.

"Alright," Hermione offered a distracted nod. "I just thought-

"We're both exhausted, Granger," Draco stopped her, moving past her to stand by her fireplace. "Don't analyse this."

"Okay," the witch agreed with a concerned expression. "But don't you think-

"No," he said with a scowl. Wouldn't she just shut up? "Leave it be, Granger. I'll see you Monday-

"Sunday," Hermione corrected him. "We agreed that we'd work on the case this weekend. We should meet Sunday. I'll owl you."

"Fine," Draco muttered, grabbing some Floo powder.

And then he was gone.

Hermione stared at the fireplace for a few moments after he had disappeared and then moaned to herself. She felt inquisitive eyes staring her and she turned to shoot Crookshanks a heated glare. Her pet didn't even have the decency to look at fault.

"I love you," Hermione told her half-kneazle cat with a disapproving tone. "But you can be a pain in the arse sometimes."

.

* * *

.

When Draco was back in his home, he released a heavy huff of air. He was so angry that he actually considered slapping himself across the face. He'd done it once before when he had failed to kill Dumbledore in sixth year, and even though it hadn't changed anything, he'd felt better for doing it. But no, it wouldn't help this time. What he needed was an Obliviator.

"Stupid git," he scolded himself.

He ran his hands over his handsome face like he could rub away the memory, and then snapped his arms stubbornly at his sides. Just what the hell was he so agitated about? Their lips had barely grazed and he was stressing like some hormonal virgin. He thought back to that to that time in his house when she'd leaned into him before Penny had interrupted them. He had decided that the little incident had been nothing, but what had she made of it? Had she been leaning in for a reason? And why was it such a big deal anyway?

And then, of course, he had tossed off to her. And not just the once either. She had managed to bury her way into his head a few times since then, always unwelcome, but there nonetheless. It was like she was haunting his orgasms.

He considered giving his dick a quick tug to ease the tension that had settled in his shoulders, but decided against it. He realised then that he needed to admit something to himself.

He was attracted to Hermione Granger. Constant Library-Dweller and Gryffindor Golden Girl. How disconcerting.

Perhaps he was overreacting. She was an attractive woman. She had always been rather plain at Hogwarts, excluding perhaps the final years, but he'd been too busy to notice. He could notice it now though. She wasn't spectacular looking but there was certainly something about her. Something...was enticing the right word? Maybe.

It was only normal to look at her. He spent five days of the week with her. Except it wasn't normal.

This was Hermione Granger, the girl he had bullied relentlessly since first year. The girl he had once wished dead. The girl who had beaten him in every single exam and essay and had caused his father to frown with disappointment. The girl who had hushed all the theories that muggle-borns were inferior by scoring higher grades than any pureblood. Perhaps even the girl who had made him question that purebloods were superior. He was getting ahead of himself.

He was doing exactly what he had told her not to do. He was over-analysing it.

.

* * *

.

"You look shattered," Narcissa informed her son with a worried look.

"You read what happened," Draco answered, nodding at _The Prophet _his mother was reading. "It was a tiring day."

"That poor girl," the witch sighed, taking a sip of her tea. "She must be devastated."

"What are you talking about?" Draco didn't have the patience for his mother's whimsical mood today.

"Hermione," Narcissa confirmed, and Draco felt his lip twitch. "It must have been awful for her, having to see the body."

"She recovered quite well," the blond wizard informed his mother, thinking back to how quick she had reacted. "Does it mention that she was the one who took charge?"

"Yes," the witch nodded. "I can't imagine how she held it together after seeing her boyfriend like that-

"Boyfriend?" Draco's stormy-grey eyes shot up to his mother with a scowl. "They weren't a couple."

"That's what it says here," Narcissa explained. "It says they'd been dating for-

"Let me see that." Malfoy snapped, snatching the newspaper from her hands.

His eyes automatically went to the two pictures on the page and he arched an eyebrow. The first one showed Finch-Fletchley and Granger at a restaurant together, laughing at something he doubted could be that funny. The second pictured them hugging, showing mostly Hermione's smiling face. His eyes lingered for an unnecessary moment on Justin's hands, settled on the bottom of Granger's back.

Merlin's ghost, he was suspicious of a dead man.

Then his eyes wandered down to the author of the article, and his frown hardened when he realised it was Skeeter. That woman could bullshit that fire was water.

"They were just friends," Draco tossed the paper back to his mother. "You should know better than to believe everything your bloody friend writes."

"Are you sure?" Narcissa looked uncertain as she observed the photographs again and it annoyed him.

"Certain," her son finalised. "They were just friends."

"Even if that's the case," the witch continued. "It must have been awful for her. Was she okay?"

"She was fine," Draco told her, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "She was completely professional."

"She didn't seem upset at all?"

"She didn't really have time to be upset," he admitted with a dull voice. "She had to deal with everything quickly, but it looked like she'd been crying when she came came back to her house."

He instantly realised his mistake and grimaced.

"You were at her house afterwards?" Narcissa's attention went straight to her son. "What were you-

"We needed to discus the case," Draco stopped her before she could finish. It was a lie but he'd be damned if he tell his mother that he'd been there to feed her cat.

"I see," his mother remarked, and he didn't like the look she was giving him. "And what did you decide?"

_I discovered that I find her attractive and that she haunts my orgasms. _

"That we need to spend more time on it," Draco said instead. "The fact that he broke into the Ministry changes everything. This guy's good. We're meeting tomorrow-

"Tomorrow?" Narcissa frowned. "I was hoping you would come here tomorrow."

"You need more help with your birthday?" Draco asked her, taking a sip of his firewhiskey.

"Not really," the witch admitted. "Rita can't make it to visit me tomorrow and this Ministry breach has me a little-

"You're worried," Malfoy confirmed, giving his mother a concerned look. She nodded and he instantly felt guilty. "I'll cancel my meeting with Granger."

"You don't have to do that-

"Yes, I do."

"I was going to suggest you invite her here to work on the case," Narcissa offered with an elegant shrug that only a Malfoy could manage.

"Here?" Draco repeated in an unsure tone. "Why don't you just come to my house?"

"I may as well do some preparation for the ball while you're working," his mother explained.

"Why don't you just live with me for a while?" Draco wasn't sure why but he wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of Hermione meeting his mother. "Or I could move back-

"Because we'd drive each other insane," the witch replied. "And I see my friends everyday and you hate them, and if I ever bumped into one of those girls you take home I think I would have a nosebleed."

"Touché," her son relented with a roll of his stony eyes. "Are you sure you want Granger coming here?"

"Absolutely," Narcissa smiled. "It would be nice to meet her before the ball, and what's safer than having an Auror in your house?"

"Fine," Draco sighed, deciding he still wasn't comfortable with the idea. "I'll owl her later. And don't tell Blaise I went to Granger's house last night. You know he'll make a snarky comment about it."

"Well I-

Whatever the Malfoy widow was going to say was cut short when Blaise stepped out the fireplace. He grinned at the two relatives and poured himself a firewhiskey before he took a seat.

"What did I miss?" Blaise asked, reclining comfortably in the couch.

"We were just discussing my birthday," Narcissa lied, and Draco shot his mother a grateful look.

"Cool," the dark wizard grinned. "You need some help with the plans?"

"That would be lovely," the witch smiled.

Draco paid little attention as Blaise and his mother started discussing her birthday. His friend had a bit of a knack for arranging celebrations and he really didn't care to think about potential themes and colour-codes for the Manor. Instead he thought about what he would write in his letter to Granger.

.

* * *

.

Hermione nursed a cold mug of tea at twelve Grimmauld Place. Ginny had moved in with Harry shortly after he had proposed and she had done wonders with the place. Gone were the dreary drapes and furnishings that had always somewhat irked Hermione and now the house was homely and verging on cheerful, like the Burrow.

It reminded Hermione of when Draco had told her Narcissa was redecorating Malfoy Manor. Everyone was slowly erasing the bleak memory of the War and it was strangely comforting.

"You're so tense today," the pretty redhead told Hermione with a little apprehension. "Do you want something a little stronger to drink?"

"It's fine, Ginny," the witch assured her friend. "I'm just a bit tired-

"No, you're not," the young Weasley argued. "You're upset about Justin. What happened, 'Mione?"

"He was just dead," Hermione's face contorted as she tried to block out the image of her fallen friend. "There was nothing I could do-

"You did everything," Ginny told her friend, placing a comforting hand on her friend's. "Harry said you were brilliant, said that you did everything he would have done and more."

"I froze when I saw him," the Auror admitted, rubbing her eyes to smother the stubborn tears. "I just couldn't move."

"Well you must have recovered very quickly," Ginny offered her friend a comforting smile. "You just had a moment of shock before you-

"No," Hermione shook her head furiously. "I panicked and I had no idea what to do. If it wasn't for Malfoy I would-

"Malfoy?" Ginny repeated, casting her friend an unconvinced look. "He was there when you found Justin?"

"Yes," the witch confirmed, ignoring the Weasley's sceptical face. "He helped me get my bearings and then he helped round up everyone and test them."

"Interesting," Ginny replied with a thoughtful glimpse at the brunette. "So he's actually doing some good on your case?"

"Immensely," Hermione said honestly. "He's been working really hard on this with me-

"Hermione," the redhead started slowly. "I know you keep saying Malfoy has changed and everything but I think you should be careful. Harry still isn't completely convinced about you two working together and I agree with him-

"I've been working with him for a month, Ginny," the witch reminded her friend. "And not once has he given me a reason to question him-

"Not once?" Ginny looked shocked. "Not even a little thing?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "We've argued a few times, but no more than I would with Ron. He's been completely professional and we've had no problems."

_Except for last night. And possibly that night I went to his house. I doubt they would be considered professional. _

"Well that's good," the Weasley sister nodded, seemingly satisfied with the Auror's explanation. "But if you need any help you know where I am."

"Of course," Hermione grinned.

"And don't be such a stranger," Ginny said with a forced frown. "I know you're busy as hell but Luna and I miss you. With Harry off doing Auror stuff I get quite bored."

"Sorry," the witch sighed, knowing her workload was only going to increase. "I'll try and show my face a bit more."

She knew Ginny didn't believe her but there was nothing she could do about it. She was going to be working her arse off for...well, Merlin knew how long. Until they found something. Someone. Although, she realised with severe disappointment at herself, that she had agreed to go to a social gathering with the Malfoys. She hated lying to her friends but there was no way she was telling them about Narcissa's birthday. Everyone had enough issues without her revealing that bizarre detail.

Still, she couldn't help but feel awful. She could squeeze in some party time with some Slytherins but not for the friends she had known for years? Well, she had already she'd go, and a small silver of her was a little excited about it.

She returned home to two owls tapping furiously on her window. She recognised Draco's Eagle Owl but her eyes went to the Tawny Owl, clutching an envelope with the Ministry emblem, and she decided Malfoy's letter could wait.

_Hermione,_

_Thank you again for all your efforts after the events on Friday. _

_In light of this, I have asked the Aurors to meet me on _

_Monday at ten o'clock in my office to discus security measures._

_Thanks again for your bravery, Hermione. _

_Until Monday. _

_Kingsley. _

Hermione allowed a shadow of a smile to grace her features. Even the man's writing, whilst always to the point, was warm and reassuring. She had expected Shacklebolt to organise a meeting to discus the possibilities and she was pleased because she had a few suggestions of her own. She looked then at Draco's note and nervously opened the envelope.

_Granger,_

_We are working at the Manor instead. _

_Come around one o'clock. _

_Malfoy. _

His letters were like him. Blunt and precise.

_And beautiful. _

It was true, his handwriting was wonderful and elegant, and actually quite similar to hers. Perhaps it was just a Hogwarts thing. She couldn't quite decide if working at the Manor would be a good or bad thing. She assumed that they would be working there because his mother was concerned about the Ministry break-in, which meant she would be there.

Perhaps with his mother around, there would be no possibility of another _almost_ kiss. Not that she assumed he intended to pick up where they left off, but the man was unpredictable at the best of times. If there was someone else around then she was guaranteed not to have any problems. She hadn't quite decided what to make of last night so she'd rather not be alone with him until she had established what had happened and why.

.

* * *

.

Hermione had thought about the _almost_ kiss all Sunday morning and had decided that she really was just over-thinking it, just as he'd said she would. They had both had the most stressful day at the Ministry and she had been shaken by Justin's murder. It was only normal that their brains would be a little muddled, and she had an awful habit of getting touchy-feely when she was upset.

So that was that. Nothing to worry about.

She dressed herself into some comfortable jeans and a white jumper, finishing off with black scarf to fight the Autumn chill, and her bag full of notes. She accepted that she was a bit nervous but it was only natural seeing as they hadn't left on good terms. She was also a little anxious about meeting his mother, considering the last time she'd seen her was not under the best circumstances.

Malfoy Manor had hardly been a pleasant place for her, but she knew that the Malfoys weren't the muggle-hating morons they had once been. She actually quite wanted Narcissa to like her. She told herself that was why she graced her face with some light make-up and checked her reflection before leaving.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting to see when she walked through a beautiful fireplace into a large lounge, but it certainly wasn't a cheerful room with pastel walls. She remembered the Manor having dark and cold rooms, not the charming décor she was observing now.

She was about to wander further into the room but she stiffened when she heard expensive heels drumming against the wooden floor in the corridor. The door was open, and Hermione forced a soft smile when the Malfoy matriarch appeared in the room. The woman had barely changed, still powerfully beautiful with an aura of elegance that demanded respect. Save a few extra wrinkles and the welcoming smile, she was the same Narcissa Malfoy she remembered, complete with expensive robes that made Hermione regret her choice of clothes.

"Hermione," the older witch greeted, walking up to Hermione. "You're a little earlier than I thought."

"Sorry about that," Hermione muttered quickly. "I'm not very good at keeping a check on the time."

"It's no bother," Narcissa dismissed quickly, taking a seat on one plush couch. "Take a seat."

"Sure," the Auror nodded, relaxing on the ridiculously comfortable sofa. "Miss Malfoy-

"Please," the woman grinned again, and Hermione couldn't help but smile back. "Call me Narcissa."

"Narcissa," the witch repeated, and Hermione found herself nearly staring at the mother. It was strange how a smile could change a person's face so dramatically.

"Is everything okay?" Narcissa asked her companion with a raised brow that instantly reminded her of Draco.

"Yes, sorry, it's just," Hermione paused and tried to think what she was trying to say. "You haven't changed much. In appearance, I mean."

"I suppose I haven't," the older witch agreed, allowing her eyes to dance over the girl she hadn't seen in four years. "You, on the other hand, have changed a lot."

"I have?"

"Certainly," Narcissa nodded, flicking her wand to conjure some tea. "You've grown into a very attractive woman, if you don't mind me saying so. And it's nice to know you've got a good head on your shoulders too."

"Thank you," Hermione's smile widened. What woman didn't love hearing she was attractive?

"Draco failed to mention how pretty you've gotten," the mother continued. "But then he's not that good with words."

"Where is Draco?" Hermione asked, realising she couldn't exactly call him Malfoy to his mother.

"He's around," the witch sighed. "He'll be here shortly. How are you finding working with my son?"

"It's been interesting," the Auror said honestly. "I didn't think it would work but he's impressed me. I can see he's really changed."

"Children grow up," Narcissa offered a shrug. "But I'm glad you're finding it okay. I know my son can be a bit temperamental."

"It's nothing I can't handle," Hermione grinned, and Narcissa's lips morphed into a Malfoy smirk.

"I can't begin to thank you for removing my Trace, Hermione" the witch said suddenly.

"You're welcome," Hermione said, and she realised she already liked the woman. "It was no worry."

"Well you truly made my year," the woman confessed. "I've already planned some shopping trips to Paris."

"Oh, I love Paris," Hermione exclaimed. "I got to spend a few weeks there when I was staying in Europe and it was beautiful."

"I've missed it," Narcissa sighed, but there was no sadness to her breath. "So thank you for making it possible for me to go back."

"Thank you for inviting me to your birthday," the Auror replied.

"It will be a pleasure," the mother said softly. "I understand that you might have been a little anxious about it but I can assure you that none of my guests will give you any trouble."

"I'm looking forward to it," Hermione said, realising it was the truth. "I suppose I could do with a bit of relaxation. These past few weeks have been rather stressful."

"I can imagine," Narcissa sympathised. "Well hopefully you will enjoy yourself on Saturday, and I think you will. I may not be good at many things, but I know how to organise a party."

"I'm sure it will be lovely-

"It better be," a new voice invaded the room. "It's costing a bloody fortune."

Hermione's eyes shot over to Draco, who was leaning casually against the door-frame with an amused expression carved into his handsome face. She eyed his relaxed clothing, which consisted of black trousers and a loose green jumper. Her mind inevitably lead her back to their incident on Friday night and she tried to ignore how good he looked right now.

"It will be worth every galleon," Narcissa gave her son a proud look. "You know I never disappoint, Draco."

"We'll see," the blond smiled at his mother, before offering Hermione a secretive glance. "Are you done with your little reunion, ladies?"

"We were just having a chat," Narcissa stole a knowing glimpse at Hermione. "You're just nervous because we were talking about you."

"Of course you were," Draco rolled his eyes before settling his silver eyes on his colleague. "We should get started-

"You're not going to join us for some tea?" Narcissa asked her son with a frown that only slightly dulled her beautiful face.

"No, mother," the wizard eyed her with impatience. "Lives to save, psychopaths to catch and all that."

"Okay," the older witch sighed in defeat. "It was nice speaking you, Hermione."

"You too," the brunette beamed at the woman as she left the couch, lingering a little to offer her an appreciative look. "Thanks again."

"Come on, Granger," Draco breathed harshly.

She left Narcissa's warm presence to follow Draco to a study down the corridor and she noticed that the rest of the Manor was decorated in fresh and relaxing styles. She found it hard to remember that this was the place Bellatrix had so callously tortured her as the calming colours washed over her, chasing away her memories of her last visit here. It was a completely different house.

The study was a little darker in appearance but still a far cry from the dreary décor she had expected. Draco settled himself in one of the chairs around the large oak desk and Hermione decided on the seat opposite his, removing her scarf. She quickly started organising her parchments on the table before them, doing everything she could to avoid his stare.

She could feel his eyes on her, like that tingling sensation you feel before you realise something is burning. She could feel it on her exposed neck and she shuddered, a little too violently for her liking. Warily, she met his gaze and instantly regretted it. The man looked good enough to swallow whole.

"About the wards," Hermione started, hating the nervous hitch in her voice. "Goyle's were very advanced but there's an issue. We couldn't decipher them enough to figure out who they would let through-

"So we're back to square one?" Draco's agitated tone silenced her.

"No really," the witch argued. "Goyle would have known whoever killed him. And I think Justin knew the killer too."

"Why would you say that?"

"Justin didn't use his wand," Hermione explained. "It was on his desk when we found him. Clearly he didn't feel threatened enough to use it. And I'm willing to bet that Nott wasn't attacked from behind. I think he knew the killer too."

"So you're basically saying it's someone from Hogwarts," Draco realised with a scowl.

"That's certainly the most likely possibility," the brunette nodded. "And it was someone who knew the Ministry quite well. He managed to get in and out rather quick."

"Not bad, Granger," Malfoy graced her with a smirk. "So what do you propose we do?"

"I think we should section off anyone on the Trace list who would have known the victims well enough to be allowed into their homes," Hermione offered, her eyes once again looking away from his handsome face. "After we've done that we can take a closer look at their lives."

"That sounds fine." Draco rested chin against his knuckles and watched her closely.

They started working through the list of ex-Death Eaters, selecting around thirty people who they suspected had known the victims on something close to a personal level. Hermione would forward these names on to Harry, and a couple of other Aurors, who would then watch them for a week or so and provide Hermione with any interesting information.

"The Aurors have a meeting with Kingsley tomorrow," the witch revealed after three hours of compiling their list. "We're going to discus some possible security measures and I have some suggestions."

"Such as?" Draco eyed her with something close intrigue.

"I think the targets who are at high risk should be listed," Hermione explained quickly, and Draco recognised that intuitive gleam flickering in her eyes. "I think I could create a method whereby the targets have very advanced wards and if they are breached, an Auror is alerted."

"Elaborate," the blond wizard requested, sensing she was having one of her moments of genius. "It sounds interesting so far."

"Well maybe the targets could be divided equally between the Aurors," the witch continued. "And then the Aurors could have a charmed object that could alert them if the wards are breached."

Draco's smirk widened when he realised her idea was actually quite brilliant. But then what did he expect? She hadn't been called 'the smartest witch of our time' for nothing.

"Very clever, Granger," Draco admitted, grinning when she seemed to brighten at his compliment.

"Thank you," Hermione said, having calmed in his presence over the hours, although thoughts about the _almost_ kiss were still plaguing her mind.

"So what were you and my mother talking about?" Draco asked her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Just her birthday really," the witch shrugged, finding the sudden change in conversation rather uncomfortable. "And she asked me how I found working with you."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," Hermione shrugged, looking away from him again. "That it wasn't easy to begin with but we've worked things out."

Draco nodded absently, regarding her with shielded eyes. He wasn't entirely sure why but he was pleased Granger and his mother had managed a decent conversation between them. He supposed it was because Narcissa's birthday would possibly be a little less uncomfortable for his colleague. He was also impressed that Granger had managed to regain a level of composure considering what had happened on Friday night. He had half expected her to be a fidgety mess with too many questions, but she had only looked nervous a couple of times since they had been alone.

"Nice to see you took my advice, Granger," Draco remarked as she jotted down some more notes.

"About what?"

He contemplated reminding her that it was him who had suggested that the people on the Trace list receive some sort of protection but realised that wasn't what he had wanted to broach. No, he wanted to test how she felt about Friday. He wanted a reaction.

"About not over-analysing things," he drawled, knowing too late that he probably shouldn't have said it.

Her confused and almost panicky gaze landed quickly on his face, examining his guarded features. A delicate but delicious blush waltzed on her cheeks and her lip twitched in barely-concealed irritation. She started gathering her things, erratically shoving them into her bag.

"I should go home," Hermione mumbled, rising a little too quickly from her chair. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Granger," the pale wizard muttered as she scrambled for the door.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

The door slammed behind her and Draco exhaled an agitated sigh. It was barely five in the afternoon. Why the hell had he said _goodnight_? She would have probably been fine in work but now he'd gone and made it all awkward again.

On the bright side, she had looked bloody inviting when she had gotten all flushed. He had a feeling that little image would pop into his skull the next time he relieved some sexual frustration.

.

* * *

.

A/n: thanks again for your delightful reviews. Though I would get this up quick as I have exams this week so hope it's okay. Next chapter will be the ball. Let me know if you have any suggestions! Thanks for reading and please Review!

Bex-chan


	11. Satisfied

**HUNTED**

**~.~**

Chapter 11: Satisfied. 

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Draco hated her. He hated that they had been working together for five days and nothing further had been said about their incident. He hated that she had seemed to be completely indifferent to the problems that their proximity was causing. He hated that she always had a coffee in the morning, black with two sugars. He hated that if she brought sandwiches to work, they would either be ham and pickle or tuna and sweetcorn, but the latter was her favourite.

He hated that she bit her bottom lip whenever she was thinking, which was a lot. And that she would either fiddle with the hem of her shirt or a lock of her hair. Or when he was getting on her nerves, which was often, her cheeks would stain with rosy blush and her eyes would go just that fraction darker. She would purse her lips and then make a witty comment that would always leave him wondering who had won the argument.

The thing he hated most was how all of these things somehow made her attractive. In the confines of his office, everything was multiplied and magnified, to the point where he became convinced that she was doing those things on purpose just to torment him.

Oh, and he had established what the tension was. It was sexual.

When a woman invades your mind every time you masturbate, it's kind of inevitable.

He didn't realise that she was noticing his little quirks too.

There were the more obvious signs like his arching eyebrows and his bored sighs, but more fascinating were his subtle actions. She would often stifle a giggle when he accidentally read something aloud. She had almost found herself waiting for those brief moments when passion would flicker across his features when something went his way, always accompanied with a smirk.

And if something angered him in their work he would tap his thumb against the edge of the desk for a few minutes. The first couple of times, she had found that habit rather irritating, but now it was somewhat soothing and rhythmic.

He had a milky coffee in the mornings but would then switch to tea after eleven, always Earl Grey with two sugars. He would lick his lips when he was seriously considering something, but only once to dampen them. And if he was considering something that didn't require that much attention, he would click his tongue against his teeth and gums to make little snappy noises. She had initially found that annoying too but it no longer bothered her.

Now that she thought about it, the man expressed himself a lot with his tongue and lips.

She was sure there was an irony there somewhere but she couldn't quite grasp it.

Naturally, she chastised herself for noting all these little habits and quirks, but it was impossible for her not to notice them. The little sounds and sights teased her senses everyday. They were interesting and telling, and almost...tempting?

She had realised now that she was attracted to him, and not all of her attraction was based on his appearance. Malfoy had always been a striking man, unconventionally handsome with his winter-like features. His shades of grey, silver, blond and white made her question whether the tall, dark and handsome notion had ever held any base. Unless they had meant a dark past, in which case he ticked the three boxes.

He made her digress.

The point was that she had warmed to his mannerisms and they made him that much more appealing. He unintentionally made her laugh and could quite easily keep her entertained with his intellect and wit, as proven by their conversation about the current crisis in Wizard Moscow. He had even confessed to reading some muggle books, apparently oblivious that this would set her off on an academic rampage. He had read the most obvious texts, including some of Shakespeare's Tragedies, a few Dickens novels and a bit of Byron, and she had quickly scribbled a list of recommendations.

He was making her digress again...

She was attracted to him. End of story. And it was making work rather...tense.

.

* * *

.

"Granger."

Draco frowned when she didn't acknowledge him. He had no idea why but Hermione would be slightly ill-tempered or distant on Fridays and Tuesdays, and this Friday was no exception.

"Granger," he repeated her name, finally getting her attention. "What time are you coming?"

"Coming where?" Hermione tilted her head in confusion.

"On Saturday," Draco confirmed. "My mother's birthday."

"Oh, yes," her voice was distracted. "I'll be a little late, I have some things to do, but I should be there by eight."

"Okay," Draco nodded, pretending not to be curious about the 'things' she needed to do. "When you get out the Floo there will be a charmed swallow to lead you to the main room."

"A charmed swallow," Hermione repeated with a thoughtful smile. "What a lovely idea."

"My mother's," he nodded. "She's got a few little bits and bobs going on."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes flashed with childish excitement. She was still eleven years behind most witches and wizards and she adored the random and creative little things. "Like what?"

"Be patient, Granger," he flashed her possibly the most brilliant smirk she'd seen so far. "You'll see tomorrow."

"I'm intrigued," she admitted, unable to stop her eyes from lingering on that smirk. "I'll admit that this party sounds promising."

"You'll enjoy it," Draco promised her in a silky breath. "There's a few surprises."

"I don't know," Hermione said in teasing tone, wondering if this would constitute as flirting. "You've made a lot of promises, Malfoy. I have high expectations."

"Well, I can assure you," he spoke, pausing just to look her up and down and twitch his grin. "That you will leave satisfied."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in slight surprise, but her amused smile remained on her lips. He was watching her face closely, clearly trying to see if his innuendo had affected her. Her eyes gave in and she glanced down at her work, offering him a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. Surely that would be considered flirting?

_Bad idea, Hermione. Just ignore the cheeky bugger. _

Flirting with Draco was like dancing around a fire covered in petrol. Even if his beliefs about blood purity had changed, he was still like the young Malfoy in so many ways. He was cocky, manipulative and very incorrigible. He was one of the biggest male trollops known to Wizard London and would probably sell his own grandmother for personal gain. He was blunt and temperamental, and enjoyed nothing more than fucking with her head.

Just like he way doing now.

"We'll see," Hermione said finally with a casual shrug. "Are we going to meet on Sunday to work?"

"Maybe," he replied, his earlier smirk fading as she changed the subject. "We'll see what time the party finishes. If it's late, I'm going to say no."

"Fair enough," she nodded, collecting her files when she realised it was time to finish. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

"See you, Granger," he said, watching her leave.

Once she'd closed the the door, he groaned to himself, pinching the bridge on his nose.

_Well, I can assure you that you will leave satisfied? _

_What the fuck was that?_

There had been several little conversations between them since Monday that could have been misconstrued as suggestive, but one of them always managed to change the subject before it bordered on dangerous. Amusing? Yes. Inappropriate? Maybe. Wrong? Definitely.

.

* * *

.

Hermione hadn't had anything to do before she went to Malfoy Manor, she just quite enjoyed making a late entrance. After Voldemort's defeat, there had been countless balls, parties, galas, functions and every other sort of celebration, and she preferred to come once an atmosphere had been set.

She had decided against buying a new gown, knowing that she was rather awful at shopping without Ginny or Luna's help. She may have been able to select a nice gown by herself, but she hadn't told her friends about Narcissa's birthday, and if they had heard she'd bought a gown, they would have been more than curious. Besides, she had more than enough dresses at it was.

A quick scan of her closet revealed about thirty frocks, but her eyes went straight to her red one. She had worn it for Harry's birthday two years ago and it had always been her favourite, but she hadn't worn it since. It had a classic cut, with the material just flaring out at her hips, and thin straps leading to low neckline.

The material was a little heavy but it helped to keep the gown's shape. It was simple yet bold, and Ginny had told her many times that red was her colour. Combined with some simple gold jewellery and shoes, she was convinced she had chosen the right dress. She used her wand to define her curls a little more and spent less than five minutes adding some delicate make-up to her face.

"What do you think?" Hermione eyed Crookshanks with an expectant smile.

Her inquisitive cat simply stared at her with his huge amber eyes, but offered her a small purr of affection.

"Thank you," she petted him as she double-checked her reflection. It was only quarter to eight so she poured herself a glass of wine and tried to convince herself she wasn't nervous.

.

* * *

.

Draco grabbed a glass of champagne from one of the charmed trays that were floating around the ballroom, and headed towards his mother. The woman, dressed in an elegant black gown, was currently surrounded by twelve of her harpy friends, all congratulating her on the party.

Draco had to give credit to his mother, the witch had bloody outdone herself. It was similar to how the Yule Ball had been with silver decorations, but there black and green trimmings. He didn't know if she'd intended to use the Slytherin colours but he was pleased with the result. Along with the charmed trays for drinks, the candles and lights had been charmed to glow white or green, casting wonderful shadows the walls.

There were star-shaped trinkets floating just above the crowd and charmed instruments played waltzes near the dance area, which had been altered to look like very thin ice, with fish swimming underneath.

Yes, they had done very well.

"Draco," Narcissa smiled when she saw her son, and she broke away from her friends to near him. "Where did you go?"

"Just for a walk," he offered her an approving nod and pecked her on the cheek. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's wonderful," Narcissa beamed like it was Christmas. "Everyone's enjoying themselves and, if I do say so myself, this is the party of the year."

"It hasn't been going an hour yet," he reminded her with a playful grin. "And you've come to that conclusion?"

"I know how to please," the witch smiled. "Where's your date?"

Ah, his date. Violet Rosenthorn. Beautiful but irritating, complete with screeching voice and no brain cells to boast. Blaise had set him up last minute and he had successfully managed to ditch the idiot after twenty minutes. He had left her talking to a grey-haired wizard with a massive fortune and a troublesome heart condition. He figured they would get along just fine.

"She's around," Draco shrugged as he spotted Blaise walking towards them. "Enjoying yourself, Blaise?"

"Of course," the dark wizard grinned, offering the Malfoy matriarch a small hug. "Well done Narcissa, another great party."

"Naturally," the woman smiled, waving at some guests. "I have to mingle, I'll come find you two in a bit."

Draco watched his mother go with a scowl when he saw a tall wizard embrace his mother for a bit too long. His eyes then went to scan the crowd, taking in the familiar faces and noting that a certain witch had yet to make an appearance.

"Did you ditch Violet already?" Blaise's voice broke his thoughts.

"She's a prat," Draco stated flatly. "Would it have killed you to pick a woman with a decent mental age?"

"It was short notice," Blaise smirked. "So did your Mum pick Slytherin colours on purpose?"

"No idea," Draco shrugged. "But it's certainly a decent prospect. Want to reminisce about the Hogwarts days with firewhiskey later?"

"I might join you on that," a new voice interjected.

Draco and Blaise turned to the new voice and the pale Malfoy couldn't stop the look of surprise that stole his features. Well, there was a face from the past if ever he saw one. Graham Montague, looking notably thinner. Last Draco had heard, he'd been in St Mungo's still recovering from the whole Vanishing Cabinet incident. It was his own fault for trying to Apparate and ending up in the bloody toilet.

_Moron_.

Graham had also been furious when Draco had used the Vanishing Cabinet to allow the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, claiming that Draco had stolen the idea from him and that Voldemort's approval was misplaced. The Healers had assumed his ramblings were linked to his splinching, but Draco wasn't sure how much of the rumours were true. His mother had a tendency to exaggerate. He'd become a little bit of a laughing-stock since then, and from the look on his face now, he wasn't too pleased to see his old schoolmates.

"Montague," Blaise frowned at the tall man. "What are you doing here?"

"I tagged along with my mother," the dark-haired wizard shrugged. "Thought it would be interesting to see you lot again. I wondered how the Slytherins have been coping without backbones-

"Excuse me?" Draco managed his best condescending expression.

"Well, I haven't seen you in years," Graham matched Malfoy's stare. "And when I heard you worked for the Ministry I thought you may have gone insane-

"Not me," Draco gave the wizard a cold smirk. He did not like that Montague was trying to patronise him in his family home. "So how long have you been out?"

"Almost a year," the wizard didn't sound ashamed at all.

"And your head's back in working order?" Blaise's voice was crisp and cruel.

"All better," he confirmed. "Which is more than I can say for the rest of London. Perhaps Shacklebolt can have my old room. Surely the man needs a look at if he gave you a job-

"And what exactly are you doing now?" Draco's scowl hardened. He'd be damned if he let some nameless tool, who'd been sectioned for years, try and make him feel inferior.

"I've had a few things to take care of," Graham remained vague, folding his arms over his chest.

"No job offers?" Draco grinned in amusement. "I'm sure your parents will help nurse you-

"Mock all you want, Malfoy," Montague said with a dark voice. "I would never be desperate enough to work for the Ministry-

"Times have changed, Montague," Draco shook his head as though he was scolding a child. "You've missed a lot, locked up with your little mental problems-

"I heard enough inside," Graham snarled, and Draco's hand went to rest over his wand. "I bet you're father is spinning in his grave. And Voldemort for that matter-

"You will _not_ bring up that name here," Draco growled, taking a threatening step towards the wizard. "I don't give a fuck if I have to drag you out myself-

"Draco!"

The young Malfoy heard his mother's disapproving tone and he righted himself, noticing that a few heads had turned to watch his argument with Graham. He backed away from the wizard, warning him with his eyes it would not be wise to cross him again.

"Excuse my son," Draco heard his mother apologise, and he looked at her with irritation. "He's been working-

"That's quite alright, Miss Malfoy," Graham smiled at her, suddenly polite. Montague's eyes lingered on something behind Draco and the pale wizard resisted the urge to look behind him. "I'll leave you alone, I've just spotted another familiar face."

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Draco gave his mother a sceptical look.

"I didn't know his mother would bring him," Narcissa shrugged. "I know you don't get along, but don't you dare make a scene here, Draco. The whole thing was ages ago and he's fully healed now-

"Fine," the wizard ground his teeth. "But if he-

"That goes for you too, Blaise," his mother eyed his friend with a knowing glare. "Both of you, just behave-

"Draco," Blaise's voice cut her off, and when Malfoy looked at his companion, Blaise was motioning for him to look behind him. Draco looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened of their own accord.

There she was, looking absolutely delicious, except for Montague towering over her, dulling her with his shadow. She didn't seem to be scared or anything, more confused about who it was, but there was an element in the man's stance that made Draco feel something he hadn't felt towards anyone except his mother.

He felt protective.

He was a breath away from marching over there and tearing her away from Montague's vile presence, when he felt his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," Narcissa warned her son. "They're just talking. I have to greet some more people, and when I leave I don't want you starting any more fights, Draco."

The pale wizard sighed at his mother's tone, but his eyes never left Hermione and the bastard eyeing her with too much interest. He heard his mother walk away and Blaise's soft chuckle echoed in his ear.

"What?" Malfoy snapped at his friend.

"Well I can't help but note the deja vu," the dark wizard smirked. "You looking all lusty at Granger-

"What the hell are you talking about?" Draco turned his heated stare to his companion.

"The Yule Ball," Blaise reminded him. "Similar setting, she looks hot again, and I distinctly remember taking the piss out of you for eyeing up 'Mudblood Granger'-

"Watch your mouth, Blaise-

"Sorry," the wizard corrected himself. "Just reliving the memory-

"Everyone looked at her at the Yule Ball," Draco told him.

"Fair point," Blaise agreed. "But you-

Draco didn't hear whatever his friend was going to say. He was already tearing through the crowd towards her, his patience gone the moment Montague had dared to touch her arm. He realised with a small dose of satisfaction that she seemed uncomfortable by the contact, so he slowed his paces.

"Granger," Draco called over to her when he was a few strides away. He didn't quite trust himself to be too close to Montague again, especially when Graham was still touching her. "Come here."

"Just a second, Malfoy," she smiled at him, oblivious to his sour mood. "I'm just-

"Now, Hermione," he demanded, casting another hateful glance towards Montague for good measure.

She shot him an exasperated look but made her way towards him anyway, muttering a quick apology before she left. He grabbed her wrist once she was close enough and meandered them through the crowd. He released her when he found a small space for them to talk, a reasonable distance away from Montague.

"What the hell was that about?" Hermione asked him, evidently irritated.

"Don't talk to him," Draco told her bluntly. "He's an evil shit-

"I thought you said I'd be okay-

"It's nothing to do with Muggle-borns," he told her, noticing that she relaxed a little as he spoke. "He's just pissed at everyone."

It was true. From what he remembered and had heard, Graham hadn't been too bothered with whole blood purity issue. He'd been more interested in living up to the expectations of the stereotypical Slytherin and earning himself a name more than anything else. It was that pathetic desperation that had annoyed Draco.

"He seemed okay," Hermione shrugged. "I just can't quite remember where I recognise him-

"Graham Montague," Draco told her, shooting a glance over to the man they were discussing. "He's the one the Weasley twins put in the Vanishing Cabinet in fifth year. Remember? He was one of the Inquisitional Squad and his parents came to Hogwarts to get him-

"Oh, yes," the witch breathed, looking back to the man in question. "He's lost a lot of weight. I thought he was still in St Mungo's?"

"Not long out," he told her, and his eyes began to drink in her appearance.

She looked absolutely charming and elegantly brilliant. As much as he hated to admit any fondness for the Gryffindor colours, the woman looked bloody decent in red.

_Dammit._

"You look good, Granger," he told her with a wolfish grin. "Very good, actually."

"Thank you," she smiled at him, eyeing his smart dress-robes with approving eyes. "You look rather dashing yourself."

"Glad you think so," he flashed her his teeth. "Have you had a drink?"

"Not yet," accepting a glass of champagne he plucked from one of the trays. "This place looks absolutely stunning, it must have taken your mother hours."

"She had a lot of help," he told her.

"Well it's paid off," she muttered, her hazel eyes wandering over the room in awe. "It's absolutely breathtaking."

"I know," Narcissa's voice caught Hermione's attention, and she smiled at the older witch. "How are you Hermione?"

"I'm thinking I should ask you to organise my next birthday," the Auror beamed at the blonde woman. "This is wonderful, Narcissa."

"Thank you," the witch said. "I'll have to show you the rest of the Manor at some point. Actually, Draco why don't you take her on a tour later on?"

"Sure," he nodded, his grey eyes glancing over to Hermione for a stolen moment.

"Brilliant," Narcissa's smile widened. "Why don't you two go and mingle? Have a dance or something."

"I don't really dance," Hermione muttered, her familiar flush stealing her cheeks.

"Good," Draco drawled next to her. "Neither do I."

"Well have a wander, then," his mother insisted. "There's a few surprises dotted around so go and enjoy yourself. And behave yourself, Draco."

"I always do," the youngest Malfoy rolled his eyes at her comment before she disappeared into the crowd. He turned to the witch next to him and once again found his eyes admiring her appearance with little restraint.

She was eyeing the floating stars, seemingly entranced by the beauty of the room. Her eyes waltzed over the various charmed objects with fascination and Draco's eyes narrowed in amusement. She noticed his expression and her cheeks darkened with an embarrassed blush."

"I'm sorry," she laughed a little as she spoke, and Draco clenched his jaw when he found that ridiculously alluring. "Sometimes these things still amaze me."

"It's fine," he breathed, attempting a smirk but it faltered. "Do you want me to show you around?"

"Yes please," Hermione nodded.

She followed him as he meandered through the crowd, taking her to multicoloured fountain which tasted of blueberries with schnapps. Then to the bouquets of silver lilies that made little humming noises if you played with the petals. He guided her to the ice sculptures that danced along with the music like live couples on their podiums.

Before she realised, hours had passed, and she had successfully managed to mingle with guests without once having any criticism about her heritage. She had noticed Draco shooting malevolent looks over to Graham Montague during the evening but she paid it no heed. Clearly they had some unresolved issues from Hogwarts but she figured Draco had issues with a few people from their school days.

They found themselves sitting alone at a table towards the end of the evening, watching as the various guests slowly left the Manor. Hermione realised that this was the most relaxed she had felt in a while, finding that rather surprising when she considered the company. It was just past midnight and even though the crowd was thinning, she was enjoying the atmosphere too much to leave.

"Where did Blaise go?" Hermione asked him as he removed his robes, leaving him in a white shirt.

"Probably took his date home," he shrugged, and then regarded her with a serious expression. "What was Montague saying to you before I interrupted?"

"He asked me for a dance," she explained, leaning back in the chair. "I said no, and then he asked if I remembered him from Hogwarts, and then you jumped in."

"Can you remember if his name is on the Trace list?"

"I'm not sure," the witch frowned as she tried to recall all the names. "Why?"

"I think we should keep an eye on him," Draco offered with a creased brow. "He's a shifty bastard, and he became sour at the ex-Death Eaters after we made fun of him."

"But you said he didn't have anything against Muggle-borns," she reminded him with a thoughtful look.

"I don't think he did," he told her. "But the guy's been locked up for years and having treatment since he was sixteen. Merlin knows what's going on his head."

"Good point," Hermione nodded with sad lips. "We'll look into on Monday."

"And now that I think about," Draco rubbed his chin in thought. "We should probably look at-

"Can we not discus the case now?" Hermione asked him with a pleading look. "Let's just have a night off from work."

"Alright," he agreed with an arched eyebrow, watching as she shifted in her seat and hissed through her teeth, apparently in discomfort. "What's wrong?"

"My feet are killing me," she confessed with low tone, looking down at her shoes with disdain. "I never was good with heels."

"So take off your shoes."

He didn't wait for her consent as he reached down and pulled up her foot so it was resting in his lap. She watched him silently and with a hazy stare as he slowly undid the straps and removed her shoe. He gently placed her bare foot back on the floor and picked up her other one. Her dress shifted this time, revealing some her leg and she couldn't stop her small gasp.

While his hands worked on removing the second shoe, he held her eyes this time, staring at her with an unreadable expression. She simply stared back, her lips a little parted and her hazel eyes searching his. The shoe fell to the floor, but he held her foot for a moment, stroking his right hand up the back on her calf before he settled it back on the ground.

Hermione eyes shifted away from him, finding his gaze far too intense. She clumsily fixed her gown to cover her legs and nervously glanced around the room.

"Thank you," she mumbled quickly, deciding it was not wise to look at him right now.

"It's fine," he replied gruffly, observing her with a carefully guarded façade. Merlin, if she only knew the lusty thoughts screaming in his head. "Look, Hermione-

"Oh, fuck," she cursed suddenly.

His eyes widened at her words, having long learned that she rarely swore. He followed her shocked stare towards the other side of the room, where his mother was currently talking with a certain blonde-haired witch neither of them could stand.

"Skeeter," Hermione frowned, drawing Draco's eyes back to her. "I bloody hate that woman."

"Same," he admitted, chuckling a little at her sour look. "Why do you hate her so much, Granger?"

"That woman wrote enough bullshit about me to drown an army," the witch told him. "Back when I was going out with Krum. Then I got her in trouble for being an unregistered Animagus and she's hated me ever since."

"I see," he grinned at her, amused by her look of malice towards the witch.

"Do you think we could go somewhere?" Hermione asked him, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the new guest. "I don't want to ruin the night with an argument with her."

"Sure," he sighed. "How about I take you on that tour my mother mentioned?"

"Great idea," she offered him a relived smile as she rose from her seat. They were close enough to the door to make a discreet escape, and in her haste, Hermione left behind her shoes.

Draco lead her down the long corridors and paused at the various rooms his mother had recently decorated, subconsciously keeping her away from the section of the Manor Hermione had been tortured in. She smiled appreciatively at each room and told him his mother had quite a knack for colour schemes, to which he simply snorted.

"I have to admit," she whispered as they walked down a particularly long corridor. "I have really enjoyed myself tonight."

"I said you would," he reminded her with smug look.

"I know," she nodded, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "I confess, I had reservations about coming here."

"I thought as much," he glanced at her quickly, and those betraying notions invaded his mind. Alone in a dark corridor and her looking very charming, it was hard for him to ignore her.

"But I loved it," she continued with a striking smile. "And thank you for keeping me entertained."

"Entertained," he repeated, watching as she seemed to reconsider her words with a faint blush.

"For keeping me company," she corrected, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I appreciate it."

"It's fine," Draco said in distant tone, openly watching her now as she anxiously played with her hands. A bold thought popped into his head, begging to be voiced, and he couldn't help himself. "So your expectations have been satisfied?"

Hermione stopped her slow steps when she recognised the earlier innuendo and she turned to him with confused, almost wary eyes. He stared back with that blank look that she hated so much, but she did notice that his eyes shifted to her lips for a second.

"They have," she nodded at him hesitantly, feeling like he was too close even though there was a foot between them. She tried to think of something else to say to seem calm. "Have yours been satisfied?"

He smirked at her, and her heartbeat quickened when he took a step closer to her. His eyes travelled to her lips again, and she noted the look of determination in his eyes.

"Almost," he whispered.

She barely had time to blink before he pushed her roughly to the wall, pausing only for a second before he kissed her. And she kissed him straight back. Perhaps it was because she'd had a fair few champagnes, or perhaps it was simply because Malfoy was so devilishly handsome, it would be a sin not to.

Just quick and heated pecks to begin with, but when he nipped lightly at her bottom lip, he took advantage of her small gasp. His tongue was hot in her mouth, talented and silky against hers. Her fingers desperately grasped his neck and fingered his hair and he pushed his entire body into hers, his hands on her sides and his thumbs scraping the sides of her breasts. One of his hands moved up to her throat and she barely moaned when his fingertip grazed a sensitive spot.

She nibbled and sucked and licked as much of his mouth as she could, losing herself as he ran his tongue over her lower lip. His lips left hers to suckle hungrily at her neck, and the moan she released this time was loud and clear when his hot breath teased the wet trail of his kisses.

She bit softly at his ear as he lapped at her throat, running her tongue just under his lobe while her fingers continued to frantically toy with his hair. She pecked at his jaw, tasting his masculine scent on the tip of her tongue, when his lips came back to hers. He was rough and feral and she matched his intentions, sighing when he pushed her harder against the wall.

It was frenzied now, and her teeth grabbed his bottom lip as her fingernails clawed across his shoulder blades. She felt him shudder for a fast second and he released a guttural sound in her mouth. The noise seemed to snap her out of her trance, combined with hard heat prodding against her stomach.

Her hands found his shoulders and she shoved him away from her, hating the way the lonely corridor echoed her quick breaths. She stared at him with wide and shocked eyes, praying her passion was concealed. He was matching her stare with suppressed lust, panting just like her.

She leaned back against the wall and Draco watched as he chest heaved, her neck exposed and still damp from his actions. He thought about kissing her again, but the surprise on her face warned him that it was a bad idea.

_Shit._

.

* * *

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a/n: please read and review! No? awww...but they're so nice to read! Come on guys give me some thoughts and suggestions...never know but I may use them!


	12. Buttons

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 12: Buttons.

.

He was pretty sure he was going to kill her. She was still there, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. Aside from her panicked panting, she hadn't made a sound; hadn't even looked him, and it was infuriating him because all _he_ could do was stare at her. His own breathing had calmed and all of his previous lusty notions were dissipating to make room for his impatience. Yes, if she didn't speak, or move or do something, he was going to kill her. Metaphorically, of course.

Her head finally came forward and their eyes locked. She looked somewhere between petrified and embarrassed and he knew he was disappointed by her reaction. He would have welcomed passion and perhaps even expected anger, but he would have never thought that she would be mortified. He had no idea what to do about the situation and it was frustrating him to a dangerous point.

"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble quickly, and he scowled at her when she made to move. "I should go-

"Don't you _dare,_" Draco growled, stepping forward to block her escape. He'd be damned if he let her walk out like nothing had happened. "Don't be such a bloody coward-

"What do you want me to say, Malfoy?" Hermione's words were quiet and controlled. She was refusing to look at him again and he wondered if it would have just been easier to let her go.

"I don't know," he grumbled roughly, so agitated with her behaviour. "But I refuse to have you act all fucking skittish in work, so we are going no discus this _now_."

"We've both been drinking," she muttered quickly, ignoring his growl. "We're just-

"Don't be such an idiot," he stopped her, taking another step towards her. "We're not the slightest bit drunk-

"I got carried away," she sighed, so desperate to get away now that she would say anything. He was close to her again and she just needed to leave, needed to put some space between them so she could think about this. "It was an accident."

"An accident," he repeated, clenching his fists and taking a defiant step away from her. "You mean a mistake."

She looked at him then, realising she felt offended by his words. She knew what they had done had been foolish but she didn't like that word. Did he really see it as a mistake? She felt a small but definite twitch in her chest, hating the way his eyes were cold and aloof. Her frustration was rousing some inappropriate tears and she pushed past him, furious with him, and herself, for allowing this situation to happen.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Draco asked her as she marched past him, ignoring his question. "Granger!"

"Home," she spat over her shoulder.

"The hell you are," he snarled, following her down the hall. "We are not finished here-

"Yes we are," the witch's voice was bitter now, and her strides were long and fast to keep the distance. She was searching frantically for a fireplace or at least something she recognised so she could get her bearings.

"Dammit, Granger," he cursed, almost catching up with her. "Would you just listen to me?"

"I'm going home," Hermione's voice was quaking a bit now, and she sighed with relief when she recognised the room she had arrived in earlier.

Draco grabbed her arm just as she turned into the room and she spun around to give him a flustered look, hoping she looked angry enough for him to leave her alone. No such luck.

"Stop being so childish," he scolded her in a dark voice.

"I can't do this right now," she shook her head at him, tearing her arm away from his fist. "Can't we just forget about it-

"No-

"Please," she begged him, and his scowl softened for a brief second. "Just act like it never happened?"

She was close to tears now, and he could feel his resolve wavering. He wanted to talk about this, get it all out the way now while he had the chance, but from the looks of it, she was adamant to avoid this for tonight. A part of him knew it was best she leave now. He was so angry and he knew that he had a tendency to speak without thinking when he was like this.

"Fine," he hissed through his teeth. "Go home and hide like a pathetic child, but we are going to talk about this, whether you like it or not."

She stared at him for a few seconds, her eyes wide and defeated. For a moment, she thought she might lean forward and kiss him again, so she desperately reached for the Floo powder, and disappeared with the glare of emerald flames.

He watched the empty fireplace with raging eyes, stormy-grey as he tried to control his irritation. The way she had acted had been maddening, but he was also angry at the way he had handled things. He'd been irrational, completely overtaken by his rage. He had screamed and shouted at her with no control, like some teenage brat who hadn't got his way.

He had half a mind to got after her but knew that it would only lead to more shouting and the last thing he wanted to do was say something else he would regret. Yes, he was angry at her, but he knew that his reaction had only made things worse and he really didn't want to offend her.

He could still taste her in his mouth, and his lips throbbed faintly in the aftermath of her curious pecks and nibbles. He might have smirked if he wasn't so infuriated by her actions.

_Gryffindor courage, my arse. _

He stormed out the room with every intention of having a cold shower and drowning the remnants of the kiss. Questions and thoughts were swarming around his brain as he charged through the corridors, stirring a pulsating headache. He had intended to stay at the Manor tonight but really didn't fancy the idea of running into whoever else his mother had invited to stay. He just needed to grab his stuff and then he could leave without any interruptions.

"Draco," he heard his mother's voice and growled. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," he told her bluntly as she neared him in the corridor.

"Are you okay?" Narcissa's voice was wary now, recognising her son's temper. "I thought you were staying the night?"

"Change of plan," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest as his mother regarded him. He could tell she was curious by his behaviour, and unless he came up with a convincing lie, she wouldn't leave him alone.

"What's happened?" Narcissa questioned, cocking an eyebrow when her son tensed his jaw. "Why are you so angry-

"I'm not angry," Draco lied, despising the way his mother could read her so well. "I'm just-

"And where is Hermione?" The older Malfoy frowned, missing the dark look that flashed in her son's eyes. "I thought I saw you two leaving the ballroom together?"

"She went home," he tried his best to make his shrug look carefree.

"Oh, I see," the witch rolled her knowing eyes, and for a second he panicked that she had figured him out. "You had an argument with her, didn't you?"

"Yes," he nodded after a pause. Her theory was certainly easier to deal with than the truth.

"She gets under your skin," his mother commented, and he resisted the urge to groan. "I can tell."

_You have no idea._

"I'm going home," Draco said finally, and she didn't try to stop him this time.

When he got home, he jumped straight into a shower so cold it felt hot. He was grateful that his body relaxed, the water calming his reactions to Granger. His mind, however, remained a tempest of persistent questions and haunting images. He went to bed with the start of a stubborn migraine.

.

* * *

.

When she didn't owl him on the Sunday he had been annoyed, but not necessarily surprised. She had clearly been rather surprised with the way the evening had ended and he guessed that she was analysing it to death. He realised he was too. He had done everything to distract himself but his thoughts always went back to her bruised lips and her heaving chest.

But when she hadn't shown up at work in the morning, he'd become incensed. He waited an hour, and it was a bloody long one, before he stomped heavily out of his office in search of her. He was so royally pissed off with her cowardice and he was going to confront her about it, whether she welcomed it or not.

That's who he was.

He headed straight to the Auror Office, and after checking a few rooms without success, he found himself at a door with a note scribbled in familiar writing on it.

_Busy. Do not enter._

_Bollocks._

He pushed the door open with a tenacious shove and glanced around the room with confused eyes. He had expected it to be her office but instead he found himself in a large and simple room with no furniture and stone walls. His eyes settled on the four figures in the centre of the space, instantly recognising Hermione's familiar shape in some sort of duelling gear.

One of the other people fired a curse at her and she spun around to avoid it, in the process realising Draco was in the room. Her eyes widened as she absorbed his presence with obvious panic, turning around to swiftly counter another curse.

"Stop!" Hermione screamed, and the other three halted their actions immediately, finally acknowledging Malfoy's presence when she started to approach him.

He noticed briefly that Longbottom was one of the wizards in the room but he didn't have time to mull over it as Hermione stormed towards him, rage shining brightly in her eyes. Sweat glimmered in a thin layer on her skin and he ground his teeth. She looked positively enraged as she neared him and it made her look bloody radiant, even if she was wearing frumpy training gear.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione's voice echoed off the bare walls and he almost flinched. "Can't you sodding read?"

"You were late," he spat at her, his nostrils flaring. "I came-

"You could have been bloody injured," she continued, realising she had probably never sworn so much in such a short space of time. "Do you realise that? Or were you too busy thinking about yourself to give a shit?"

"You're avoiding me," he stated, his voice quiet and accusing. "I will not be ignored, Granger."

"I told you I would be training this morning-

"What?" Draco snorted at her, crossing his arms as he stared down at her. "When?"

"Last week," she told him with a determined glare. "When we had lunch in Diagon Alley-

"That's bollocks," he growled at her "You said you were training on Friday, not today-

"Shit," she muttered when it suddenly dawned on her. She'd forgotten that the day had changed, and now she felt like an idiot. "I meant to tell you, the times changed-

"But you didn't," he frowned, relishing the small victory. "Hence why I'm here-

"You shouldn't have come in," she said weakly, looking away from him when he took a step towards her.

"We have work to do," he breathed against her face and she almost sighed, noting his hard look with anxiety. "And things to discus."

She knew what he was referring to and it made her feel embarrassed again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping he didn't notice the slight shake to her fingers. He was standing over her, waiting for a reply of some kind, but all she could do was stare at his chest, hating how small he made her feel.

"Okay," she sighed, taking a small step away from him. "I need to finish up here and I'll go home and get changed. I'll come in after lunch."

"Make sure you do," he glared at her, his voice slightly colder than he'd intended. "See you in a couple of hours, Granger."

She watched him go, holding her breath until the door slammed behind him. She bit her lip, grimacing when she realised it was still a little swollen and delicate from their kiss. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to her male companions.

"Are you Okay?" Neville spoke up, appearing genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," she offered him a confident smile, tuning to look at Castor and Jason. "Let's continue."

.

* * *

.

Draco didn't think he could remember a day when time had gone by so slowly. He didn't bother with lunch and simply obsessed over his work. Without even realising, he had started listing the people who he thought were most likely to be the killer.

_Graham Montague –_ An obvious choice really. The guy's sudden appearance back into society was enough to rouse his suspicion, and Montague had always envied the fear and notoriety that came with associating with Death Eaters. Had he not been near driven insane, Draco had a feeling he would have handled the pressure rather well and would have taken Voldemort's requests in his stride.

_Unlike me. _

He scowled as he recalled his breakdown in the toilets. Back then he had been so ashamed by his weakness, but at least now he could bask in the knowledge that he hadn't been cut out for the lifestyle. He was many things; cold, cynical, and would probably always be a little conniving, but it was good to know he wasn't evil. It was comforting. Anyway, back to his list.

_Marcus Flint – _The man had always been sinister and rarely thought twice before he acted. If Draco remembered rightly, and a quick check of Flint's record confirmed it, he had narrowly escaped Azkaban for spreading anti-Muggle-born propaganda around some wizarding community. The hatred was there and even the intelligence was there, but Draco didn't think the man was really capable of murder.

_Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick – _Yes, these two would have to come as a pair. They had been incapable of thinking individually, much like Crabbe and Goyle, and would do stupid things together to impress. Their Traces told Draco that they even lived in the same block of flats. The intelligence was lacking but they were ignorant to boundaries, and they had always been very aggressive at Hogwarts.

_Adrian Pucey – _Possibly the hardest name for Draco to write, but necessary nonetheless. He had been different to the other Slytherins, less brazen and violent, but still prejudiced. Draco had been more than a little surprised when he was linked to a Muggle attack in Ipswich. Even though Adrian himself had remained inactive during the war, his father had died during the battle, and Draco wondered if his old schoolmate was one for revenge.

_Hestia and Flora Carrow – _Just like Bole and Derrick, the sisters would rarely do anything on their own. They certainly had a motive considering their aunt and uncle, Alecto and Amycus, had not long died in Azkaban. They had always been an eerie pair, even for Slytherins, bordering on insane. That being said, he couldn't recall them ever hurting anyone and the records were pretty clean. They were just...strange, and he found it hard to put anything past them, including murder.

_Graham Pritchard – _It was unlikely, but the kid had only been fifteen when the war had started and he'd been so desperate to join to the Death Eaters. Impressionable little idiot. He'd been an evil little bastard too and had only avoided arrest because of his age. Draco had heard a rumour that he'd tried to set up meetings for Muggle-haters about two years ago, but they hadn't found anything, and he didn't have a blemish on his Trace. Perhaps Draco just wasn't too fond of Grahams at the moment.

It was just after he'd finished his notes on Pritchard that Granger walked into his office, trying very hard to look composed. Had it not been for the slight tremble in her step and her refusal to meet his eyes, he would have believed her to be confident.

It was only when she settled in her chair that she looked up at him and he felt his eyebrow twitch. The look in her eyes was a combination of nerves and defiance, and it suited her face remarkably well. He made a mental note to add her stubborn nature to the list of things he found attractive about her. Great. She was wearing that bloody dress too, the grey one that buttoned at the front. Just one flick of his wand and all those buttons would just pop-

"McGonagall contacted me yesterday," she started, clearing her throat when it sounded husky. "There have been-

"Are you really going to do that?" Draco stopped her, his tone hard with cynicism. Her eyes closed as he spoke, a small moan in the back of her breath, but she recovered and shot him a wary glance.

"Do what, Malfoy?"

"Ignore what happened," his response was quick and sharp. She visibly flinched at his words but he didn't care, he was too irritated with her right now. "Just pretend that we didn't kiss-

"We agreed that we would forget it," she said quickly, her voice stronger than he'd have thought.

"I didn't agree to anything," he reminded her, leaning over the desk. "That was your shit idea-

"Then what do you suggest?" Hermione's voice was heated now. He preferred her like this; feisty and with a bit of bite.

"That we talk about it like adults," he growled, knowing she hated his sarcasm. "Or would that be too much to ask, Granger?"

"Fine," she snarled at him, and he realised then that he had probably pushed her too far.

He hadn't really intended to get her angry, just a little riled and certainly past the stupid embarrassed stage. Now she just looked angry as hell, and all those dormant thoughts he'd suppressed about fucking her on the desk left the realm of possibility. Shame.

"I think I can safely say," she continued, breaking him from his thoughts. "That our work relationship is complicated at best-

"Massive understatement-

"But I am finally starting to think we have something that works," she told him, her anger fading but only slightly. "And it has taken a lot of bloody effort for you and I to get where we are and forget what happened between us in Hogwarts-

"Agreed," Malfoy sighed in a bored tone, eyeing her still-briused lips with hooded eyes. "Is there a point to your dull narration of our lives?"

"Yes," she breathed, firing him another stern look and try oh so hard to ignore how good he looked today. "The point is that I have no intention of making this any more complicated because of that incident-

"It's called a kiss-

"So I think it would be best," Hermione's controlled tone faltered, and she wondered why. Her chest constricted but she dismissed it. "That we just forget about it."

He knew he didn't like what she'd said, but he hated her logic more. It was infuriating. He hadn't forgotten that their past was rocky but he was certainly over it. Clearly she wasn't, but then he realised that he had been the one that had bullied her, made her cry.

And even if she was over all that, she was right. Their work was difficult as it was without them deciding whether or not to tear each others' clothes off or scream bloody murder. They needed to catch a killer, and he needed to stop picturing her naked. So he did what any self-respecting man would do; he plastered a forced smirk on his lips and acted nonchalant.

"People kiss all the time, Granger," he told her with a shrug. "Without it meaning anything."

Hermione fought very hard to keep her disappointment off her face and ignore the way her chest decided to twinge. She had no idea why she suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable but she shoved those feelings aside. He was right. She'd had a few kisses that had been meaningless, but none had been near as passionate as the one he had shown her. But all that proved was that he was a good kisser. Nothing more. There could be nothing more.

"So," she started hesitantly after a pause. "We forget about it?"

"If that's the game you want to play," Draco's voice was suddenly very professional and calm. "Then that suites me just fine."

She suddenly wanted to fight him, and just what the hell did he mean by game? She wanted to shout at him for instantly making her feel so pointless with a few well-thought words. She almost wanted to kiss him again to prove to herself that it hadn't been a fluke, and maybe just to relive it for a second. She wanted to hex him for being so blasé when she was secretly seething.

"Okay," she said instead, toying with one of the buttons on her dress, missing the way he was eyeing that particular action. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said quickly, tearing his eyes away from her bloody buttons.

At some point, although neither of them could figure out when, they had silently agreed that nobody would know about the kiss. They had also apparently decided that the topic had been dealt with, and buried at the very bottom of their priority lists, even if neither of them were happy about it.

"So, finish your story," Draco prompted, rolling his eyes at her confused look. "About McGonagall?"

"Oh yes," she nodded, still a little flustered about the previous topic. "You can't repeat this to anyone, but Penelope's still getting threatening letters, and she's requested to leave Hogwarts, I guess hoping that it will be safer if she leaves."

"Sounds reasonable," Draco agreed.

"She asked for protection," she told him. "And I thought that was a good idea."

"Fair enough."

"So I told her she could stay with me for a while," Hermione finished, taking some parchment out of her bag. "Until the killer is caught."

"Well, that's a fucking stupid idea," Draco snapped bluntly, her eyes widened at his tone. She felt disappointed with his objection, and she wondered when his approval had started to matter. "Are you mad, Granger?"

"What?" Hermione scowled at him, cringing when he stood from his seat and leaned over her. "What's wrong with that? It's all confidential, there's no way the killer could know where she is-

"You want to put two very obvious targets under one roof," he told her, sounding every inch the unimpressed teacher. Merlin, he liked fighting with her. "Very smart, Granger. Why don't you just pin a sodding sign on your door? 'Easy psycho-bait, kill one get one free on idiotic Muggle-borns-

"She needs to be protected by an Auror," she hissed at him, up at him defensively. "I have the most room-

"You're here most days anyway, Granger," he reminded her, sitting back down. "What the hell were you planning to do about that?"

"I've already sorted that out," she explained with a smug look that he almost admired. "She'll be working in the Ministry too. I managed to get her a clerical position in the Department for Magical Education. If I am busy with you or otherwise she will stay at Leandra's-

"This is ridiculous," he ranted, burying that protective feeling that seemed to stalk him now. "I thought you were smart, Granger. Why can't she stay with that other Auror, full stop? Your lack of commonsense astounds me-

"I wasn't asking for your approval, Malfoy," she cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing it was a lie. "Leandra has a family she needs to consider. The decision has been made-

"You should have consulted me first," he was on his feet again. "You judgement on this is completely off-

"You are not here to question my job as an Auror," Hermione was on her feet too, meeting his intimidating stance. "This has nothing to do with you-

"The killer is my business," he hissed through his teeth. "And his targets are certainly my business-

"This is my job," she reminded him in a quiet voice. "Protecting people is what I do, Draco."

He inhaled sharply when she said his name, and suddenly realised how close they were. Their noses were only an inch apart, and those tempting thoughts about putting the desk to good use stole his mind again. Her breaths were slightly elevated and he could feel the little huffs against his lips. She noticed it too then, and her determined features faded away. Her eyes darted over his face for a few moments before she quickly pulled back, and he wrinkled his nose in agitation.

He knew then that working together was going to be hell. And not that kind of hell they'd experienced when they'd first started sharing his office. No, this was a whole other realm of torture.

"You should have more faith in my ability," she whispered suddenly, needing his approval for whatever reason.

He considered her carefully, grinding his teeth together when she started playing with one of her buttons again. He wasn't sure when those little plastic circles had become the bane of his existence, but he could feel his resolve on the matter failing. She was a trained Auror, and one of the leading witches who had fought in the war. There was no denying it, the woman could look after herself. He didn't like the idea at all, but what could he do?

"Let's make a deal, Granger," he more demanded than asked. "Will you accept a compromise?"

"I don't see why I should-

"Because I'm asking you to," he explained slowly, regarding her with a serious expression that made her want to groan.

"What are your terms?"

"If she gets any more letters at your house," Draco spoke in a low and thoughtful voice. "Or if anything, for that matter, happens that makes you think she's being watched or something like that, then you will ask another Auror to look after her-

"Malfoy, there's no way he could know she'll be with me-

"Hear me out," he breathed, searching for patience. "If the killer finds out she's living with you, she'll be at more risk, and you'll be in his sights too. You know I'm right."

Hermione sighed, really disliking how rational his offer was. She had expected some selfish and awful attempt at a compromise, but this seemed perfectly reasonable. She also realised with some definite confusion that she was nearly flattered by his concern for her safety. She knew she was probably reading too much into it and that it didn't mean anything, but she was pleased about his concerns nevertheless.

"Alright," she found herself muttering, instantly regretting it when a very handsome grin stole his lips. The lips she had kissed. "I'll agree to that."

"Good," he drawled in his silky tone, basking in the success. "That's settled then."

So he felt a bit protective over her, he was sure it would pass, just as sure as his lusty thoughts about her would disappear. They would have to. Maybe he would have to buy a new desk and destroy all items with buttons. Maybe he just needed to taste her once so his hungry curiosity could be sated, but he doubted that would happen any time soon.

She tried to ignore the way her heartbeat suddenly pulsated in her damaged lips, and desperately avoided watching him as much as possible for the rest of the day. She sneaked a few brave glances at him throughout the day and instantly regretted them when she would become all flushed and would feel an ominous tingle in her stomach.

Either her body was reacting to him and trying to condemn her to nervous reactions whenever she dared a look, or she was allergic to Draco Malfoy. She hoped it was the latter.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Sorry about the shortness of this chapter...wanted to get another chapter out before I become suffocated by revision for the next week. Just wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU for the response to the last chapter. The reviews were so wonderful and every single one made me smile like some awful child being rewarded with ice cream!

The award for best review has to go to _Beebee _for her charming chocolate metaphors! I genuinely blushed at your compliments so I really appreciate your feedback.

Hoping the introduction of the new names isn't too confusing and everyone remembers them from the books!

I know it can be frustrating as hell when you're given a little romance and then it gets taken away again but I refuse to rush their relationship-it's just not realistic, especially when you consider how stubborn they both are. Anyway I hope this chapter goes down well! Leave me your thoughts!

Thanks again!

Bex-chan


	13. Alley

**HUNTED**

**~.~**

Chapter 13: Alley

.

Penelope moved in on the Tuesday evening and Crookshanks instantly took a liking the the new resident in his owner's home. Hermione loved that she could discuss the finer parts of both the Muggle world and the Wizard world with a girl for a change. To be able to watch _Coronation St._ and compare it to certain aspects of Hogsmeade was a bit of a luxury.

It had certainly been a nice end to an awful Tuesday.

Hermione's day with Malfoy had been an awful collage of sarcastic snubs and ill-timed glances. If she thought Draco had been cold before, she had definitely been mistaken. His selection of one-word answers and dismissive looks had made her feel unwelcome and foolish, but she'd hoped it would wear off. She'd been wrong.

Wednesday had been equally awkward, and Thursday had just been bloody vile when she'd been reintroduced to Malfoy's infamous temper. She couldn't remember exactly what she'd said to rouse his rage but she'd spent the majority of Thursday sporting a persistent cringe at his biting voice. That kiss had chased away the intellectual conversations she had enjoyed so much, and the harmless banter that she had basked in. She missed their witty arguments and stimulating conversation.

Merlin strike her down, she even missed the flirting.

Draco was, in a strange way, proud that he had managed to to keep things completely impersonal between him and Hermione. It was easier this way, and he was good at guarding himself and isolating people. He knew from her behaviour that she was more than a little perturbed by his actions, but it was necessary if they really did want to ignore the kiss.

It was harder than he'd anticipated though. He had just finished reading a selection of Seamus Heaney poems, one of her recommendations, and he'd wanted to discus them with her, but his pride wouldn't allow it. There had also been a rather intriguing development concerning the politics of Wizard Luxembourg that he'd wanted to talk to her about, but he refused to indulge in conversation with her. He'd been so talented at acting indifferent to her presence that he almost had himself convinced.

It was Friday, which meant she would be withdrawn and edgy again, although he still hadn't established why. He wasn't sure if that meant she would be more testy with his harsh demeanour, or if she would simply shrug it off to focus on her secret hatred for Fridays.

"I sent your list of suspects to Harry," she mumbled, and he looked up to find her reading through the Trace lists. "Him and Terry have started monitoring them for suspicious behaviour."

"Fine," Draco shrugged. It was a moot comment on her part, he knew she'd sent them the list two days ago.

"I brought the rest of Penelope's letters today," she continued, still shuffling through the files. "We should analyse them after lunch."

"Fine," he repeated, watching her face closely and noting that her jaw tensed when he spoke.

"And I've arranged meetings with some of the victims' families," she muttered, and he could sense the irritation behind her tone. "I'm meeting Parkinson's husband next week and then Creevey's parents. I'll try and talk with the Notts and I'm still trying to find someone would would know something about Goyle. I don't really want to disturb Justin's family just yet."

She was rambling a little but he was too busy watching her face to notice. He'd seen that her eyes had closed when she'd mentioned Finch-Fletchley, but overall she was rather calm with some subtle signs of annoyance. He sighed, and was about to mutter the repetitive f-word that bothered her so much, but she cut him off.

"So help me, Draco," and he knew her breath would be hot with anger. "If you say 'fine' one more time, I will hex you from here to Hogsmeade."

He stared at her for a moment, her eyes now on him and daring him to push her. For a brief second he was tempted to try his luck, but instead he found himself chuckling quietly at her words. He was almost relieved that she had finally initiated some sort of argument with him. The silence that had plagued his office for the past few days had left him unsettled.

"A little testy today, Granger," he remarked, and she clenched her jaw tighter. His curiosity got the better of him. "But then you always are on Fridays. Why is that?"

"I'm not," she denied quickly, and her eyes went straight back to her work.

"Yes you are," he argued, deciding he was in the mood for some confrontation today. It had been building up since Monday and he couldn't contain it. "Every Friday you come in with a face like a slapped arse and sit in that chair all moody-

"You're imagining things, Malfoy," she snapped, pretending to read her current parchment intently. "Get back to your work-

"You're a terrible liar, Granger," he told her impatiently. He was determined now. "Does that stupid muggle phrase not apply to you?"

"Muggle phrase?" Hermione repeated, roughly scratching her quill against her sheet. Merlin, was he annoying her on purpose?

"Thank God it's Friday, or what ever it is," he rolled his eyes as he spoke. "I swear, why muggles insist on bring that 'God' into everything baffles me."

"I'm sure it would," she quipped, hoping he was over the whole Friday issue. Of course he wasn't.

"So explain, Granger," he insisted, frustrated that she still refused to look up at him. "What's the deal?"

"There is no deal," she sighed, trying very hard to ignore her anger, but it wasn't working. "As I said, you're imagining things, Malfoy-

"I don't really have an imagination, Granger," he told her smugly. "You know, I will find out-

"Just drop it, Malfoy," her voice was getting stern, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I don't think so," he shook his head. "In fact, I know there's a reason-

"It is none of your business, Draco!" Hermione screamed, slamming her file on the desk and snapping her eyes to him. "Just leave it the fuck alone!"

Draco cringed, not so much as her shrill voice, but more at the realisation that's he'd crossed one of those metaphorical lines. She was flushed with offence and he quickly buried the notion that she looked very attractive with her wild eyes and red cheeks. No, it definitely wasn't the time for that.

She rose from her seat, and he recoiled again when the chair scraped loudly over the floor. Her normally plump lips were set in a thin line as she fired him a look that would have sent Bellatrix crying. She spun around, a blur of movements that his mind fought to keep up with.

"Granger," he called to her, annoyed when she continued to storm to the door. "Where are you going?"

"Out," she mumbled, and he growled, rising from his own chair.

"Granger, wait," he found himself saying. For some reason she actually stopped, and although he fought the next words to leave his lips, they betrayed him anyway. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't remember ever seeing a person turn around so slowly, but he matched her eyes when they finally landed on him. He could see her, searching for some sign of dishonesty or insincerity. Never before had he felt like someone was inspecting him so thoroughly, but he held his ground. It felt like forever before a look of acceptance crossed her pretty features.

She walked slowly back to her seat and he sat back down, eyeing her movements with more attention than he could help. She hesitated before she relaxed in her chair, searching his face again before a small smile tugged at her lips. For a moment he thought she might mock him for offering her one of his rare apologies, but instead she just picked up her file.

"I've checked all the Traces," she told him, handing him the small set of parchments. "But if you want to double-check them-

"No, that's fine," he said quickly, frowning when he remembered that he had really overused that word today. He would have to continue. "I trust your judgement on them."

Her smile stretched slightly, but the small gesture sent a wave of regret through him. Clearly, his plans to remain indifferent to her presence were failing. Bugger.

.

* * *

.

The rest of their day proved uneventful, and for that Hermione was grateful. Things were hardly as they had been, far from it actually, but at least he was gracing her with more than a few syllables by the end of the day. She had found herself smiling a couple of times, and the warmth seemed to melt away the icy behaviour that had been so strong the past few days.

By the time she left for home, she felt calm. She had been the love-child of nerves and tension since their kiss, constantly jittery in his presence. But things were looking up. Possibly. She just hoped her luck would remain over the weekend and the new-found truce would welcome her on Monday.

Penelope was lingering by the Floo connection, waiting for her, and she smiled warmly at the other witch. It was forced, of course. Her mind was elsewhere. Hermione would Floo home first, as she always did, just as safety precaution.

It turned out Penelope was a decent cook, and had insisted it was the least she could do for Hermione's protection and hospitality. By six that evening, the two witches were tucking into a rather delicious beef hotpot and watching the news. It was then Hermione remembered that she had agreed to go and visit Ginny today.

"Bugger," Hermione muttered, gaining the attention of her companion. "I need to head out tonight. Would you mind Flooing to Leandra's for a few hours? I shouldn't be too long."

"Sure," the pretty witch smiled.

.

* * *

.

"Well it's about bloody time," the redhead smiled as her friend emerged from the fireplace. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

"I did," Hermione admitted with a small grimace. "Sorry, I know I've been rubbish lately, I've just had a lot-

"Stop blabbing," Ginny hushed her, guiding her to have a seat in the living room, where a glass of Merlot was already waiting on the coffee table. "I think we've established that you've been difficult to get a hold of the last few weeks."

"Sorry, Gin," she frowned, taking a satisfying gulp of her wine. "I know I've been rubbish lately-

"Stop," the Weasley raised a hand. "Yes, you're useless at keeping in touch et cetera. Just shut the hell up so I can tell you my news."

"What news?"

"I'm pregnant!"

Now, Hermione had never been one for the girly screaming that she'd seen in American programmes, but one tore its way out of her throat anyway. She threw herself on her friend and hugged her like she never had before.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ginny muttered, slapping away her friend's hands. "I expected more from you, I already had to deal with emotional crap from my mum-

"How far gone are you?"

"Eighteen weeks," the redhead smiled. "Harry was dying to tell you but I'm already using it as an excuse for everything. Pretending to be hormonal is fun."

"I'm so happy for you," she beamed at her friend, realising she couldn't wait to see Harry and congratulate him. "I can't believe this. Who else knows?"

"We've told Ron and my parents," Ginny explained, nursing a glass of water. "We wanted to tell you before we tell the rest of the family. You know Ron would have owled you or blurted it out during a Floocall."

"Of course," she laughed at her old love's predictability. "I can't believe Harry didn't owl me actually-

"He knows I'd have killed him," she shot her friend a knowing look.

"Are you going to be okay?" Hermione's expression grew concerned. "I know he's really busy at the moment and you-

"Don't worry," the redhead breathed. "He was here Tuesday when I told him and he's said he will try and come home once a week. I'm sure all this drama will be over soon and then he'll take some time off. The first several months are easy anyway, most women just exaggerate-

"I know," the witch exhaled. "But he should still be around. We could send someone else to join Terry-

"Hermione," her friend said slowly. "It's fine. I know what Harry's job is like and it's really okay. Mum's already been over everyday and you know she'll continue doing so I'm really fine. I know if I really needed him, Harry would come home."

"And if you need me," she said with a smile. "I'll be here in a second-

"That's assuming Malfoy doesn't keep you busy," Ginny rolled her eyes, and Hermione fought the guilty look that threatened to capture her face. "How are things with that man anyway?"

"They're fine," Hermione remained intentionally vague. She really didn't want to talk about him for fear that she might slip up and reveal something she shouldn't. "Let's not talk about me, this is your night."

Hermione had never really considered herself a particularly maternal girl, but she found that talking about the new member of the Weasley family was easy. She knew that Ginny was rather young to be having baby, twenty-one to be exact, but it seemed to run in the family. Molly had only been eighteen when she'd had Bill, and it was so obvious to Hermione that her friend would fall into the roll naturally. Time passes quickly when you find our your friend is pregnant.

"It's nearly ten," the Auror commented with a frown. "I need to go, Gin. I need to catch the shop before it closes."

"Okay," she sighed at her friend. "Pop round next weekend?"

"Of course," she nodded rising from her seat. "I'll need to send Harry an owl to tell him I know. I'll owl your brother too."

"Yes, you should," Ginny nodded. "He's coming back to London soon so we'll have to organise something."

"Sounds great," the Auror smiled, preparing to Apparate to her local shop. "See you next week, Gin."

"Goodnight!"

.

* * *

.

As the scenery shifted, Hermione found herself in one of the dark alleys at the back of the small shop. The usual partially-deaf man served her milk and bread, informing her she was lucky as he'd just been about to close up. It was a fifteen-minute walk back to her home if she didn't rush, but she loved the route. The approaching winter had made the nights very dark, but she could just make out some heavy clouds in the sky, blocking the moon.

It didn't matter though, the street-lamps were bright and she had never once felt unsettled in her area. She was surrounded by friendly homes, similar to her own, and she decided she would relish the crisp air and empty streets. She was in a cheerful mood after Ginny's news, and she couldn't help the slight skip in her step.

Amongst the multiple reasons why the news had been wonderful, was the fact that it had been the only thing that had successfully distracted her thoughts from Malfoy for longer than an hour. She loved the kid already.

It's funny how a slight change in the breeze can stir the imagination when you're alone, and Hermione realised she was very much alone right now. She was only another four minutes away, but she stopped in her tracks and glanced around, noting her nerves when there wasn't even a cat in sight. There were only a few golden windows, but not enough, and she couldn't even hear the calming sound of distant television.

A street-light flickered, and all those childish assumptions that she couldn't help but register invaded her head. She rested her trained fingers against her wand, already deciding that she was being rather foolish. Still, she quickened her pace.

The shady alleys that lied between every few houses were the cracks in her courage. She had always hated them as a child, assuming things were lurking in the black they provided. She turned her face away from them, deciding it was better not to indulge her suddenly overactive mind. It wasn't long now. She was on her road.

Just a few more strides...

She had been passing the last alley before her home when she felt the painful grip around her arm. Her other hand reached for her wand, but she wasn't quick enough and she dropped her bread and milk. The strong hand wrapped around both of her wrists and she felt sharp wood against her throat. The alley was darker when she was inside, with shadows grasping shadows.

Her cheek was pressed against the bitter stone wall, the wand now poking her other cheek. Her eyes stretched as far as they could but they couldn't reach whoever it was. She thought it was a wizard but when she heard him muttering a silencing charm under his breath it confirmed it. Her wandless-magic training battered against her skull, but a dark, and almost familiar voice paused her thoughts.

"I don't want to hurt you, Granger," he snarled, but his tone opposed his words.

She was trying desperately to place the voice but her chesty thuds were loud in her ears. She could smell sweat and cider and it was burning her nostrils. He knew her name, she knew the voice.

_Think Hermione, think!_

"Stop squirming," he hissed. "I've said, I don't want to harm you-

"Well then perhaps you should lower your wand," she countered, pleased that her voice had sounded steady.

She felt the splintery wand slowly move from her cheek back to her throat, and her head quickly snapped round to view her attacker. As her eyes widened in recognition, she felt her gasp catch when the wand poked her skin harder.

"Flint," she managed to choke, and she wondered why she felt less fear than she should. "What are you-

"Tell your friends to leave me the fuck alone," Marcus warned her, his voice scratching her brain.

"What are you-

"Potter and Boot," he spat their names, and she felt small drops of his saliva spatter against her face. "I know they're watching me."

She took in his features, realising he was still the same repulsive Slytherin she remembered. He'd never been attractive, and the stress-related lines on his face didn't help. He looked restless and disturbed, almost unbalanced. Everything about his face implied that he had been designed for nothing but evil.

But her instincts were calming her. She had a feeling that if he had wanted her dead, he would have done it by now. She needed to know why he was here. If she had to, she was pretty sure she knew enough wandless-magic to thrust him away from her. She hoped so, anyway.

"We're watching you," she confirmed with a shaky nod. "We need to rule people out-

"I haven't killed anyone," he barked, twitching his nose in disgust.

"You hate Muggle-borns," Hermione explained slowly, her voice shaking a bit now that she saw the hate in his eyes. "And you were involved with Voldemort-

"I fucking hate Mudbloods," he seethed, and she felt his fingers press into the skin of her neck instead of his wand. "But I would have no reason to kill the ex-Death Eaters-

"Well," Hermione whispered, flinching when his fingers tightened a bit more. If they grew any harsher she would have to use her magic. "We don't know that-

"You're not listening to me!" he yelled, thrashing her head against the wall.

She whimpered at the impact and tried desperately to gather her scattered thoughts. He had disorientated her, she needed to get him away. He was still talking and his vile voice vibrated in her aching head.

"It isn't me! I had nothing to do with this!" he was shouting, his fingers clenching her neck, almost desperately. "You need to stop watching me-

"Why?" Hermione managed to groan, gathering her senses as quick as she could.

"So I can fucking leave!" Flint was near hysterical now and she was getting scared. "You are nowhere close to the real killer! I know who you your suspects are and you are well off! You need to look closer-

"You know?" she tried to catch her breath under his trembling fingertips. Just a bit more time and she's be able to concentrate. "You know who-

"I have a theory," he stopped her gruffly. "And if I'm right, I'll be next, and if your fucking friends don't leave me alone I won't be able to-

Hermione surged all her energy forward and he flew away from her. She quickly looked at his face and realised he wasn't hysterical with anger, it was fear. She hurriedly reached for her wand but the inevitable clap of Apparation echoed in the lonely alley.

She slumped back against the wall, trying to calm her shuddering and laboured pants. Her hand softly touched her throat, finding it sore from Flint's harassment. Her fingers reached to the back of her throbbing head and she flinched when she felt the warm slither of blood staining her hair.

She stumbled out of the alley, her heart still drumming at a racy pace. She ran clumsily to her house, tripping over her feet and knocking into her familiar walls when she saw inside. She needed to get away, needed to tell someone. Someone who knew about the case and could assure her. She expected more than one name to come to mind. Malfoy.

As her hand fumbled with the pot of Floo powder, it went crashing to the floor, but she managed to gather enough and she recited his address as clearly as she could with her quaking voice. She fell out of his fireplace, landing on his wooden floor with a harsh thud. Scrambling to her feet, she glanced around and nearly panicked when she found the room empty.

"Malfoy?" her voice called as she warily walked further into the room. "Malfoy!"

She heard footsteps on a higher floor, and she stilled her movements, breathing a sigh of relief. He appeared in the door-frame a few seconds later, looking both annoyed and confused by her presence. His eyes darted over her appearance and he scowled as he took in her dishevelled clothing and hair, overlooking her frightened state.

"Fucking hell, Granger," he commented in a curious voice. "You look like shit-

"Draco," she breathed, genuinely relieved to see him. "I need-

"Granger," he interrupted hesitantly, his face suddenly turning dark and suspicious. "Are those bloody love-bites?"

"What?" she asked, her hand moving to her neck. It still hurt, but she felt a little embarrassed by his assumption. "No, they're bruises-

"Sure," Draco drawled, trying to conceal his distaste. "I think-

"No, Draco please," she whispered, trying to find the words. "They really are. Flint, he-

"Flint?" he spat the name, nearing her.

He could see her distress now, and the small ribbon of blood sliding its way down her neck. The suppressed protective feeling he had felt at his mother's birthday clouded his head and he felt alert. She was scared, it was obvious now he properly looked at her. He'd never seen her like this, almost pathetic and vulnerable, and he hated it. He needed answers.

"Sit down," he demanded, motioning to his sofa and watching her closely as she carefully took a seat. "Explain what's going on."

"He attacked me by my house," she told him slowly, already calmer for his company and missing the possessive look that flashed in his eyes.

"Attacked you," he repeated with barely-concealed fury. "I knew it was him-

"Draco," she she pleaded. "Please, calm down and let me explain-

"He fucking attached you, Granger!" he barked, needing to throttle Flint himself, and feeling like it was his right. "That twat is-

"No, let me speak," she grimaced, and he observed her intently. He needed to calm the protective notions stabbing at his skull and hear her words. "It wasn't normal. He was frantic. He wanted me to call off Harry and Terry. Said that he knew he was a suspect-

"Our top suspect now," Draco said, taking a seat next to her in an attempt to douse his anger. He was trying to remain calm so she could explain but it was requiring a lot of control, and the blood wasn't helping.

"No," she shook her head, even more grateful for his presence now he was closer. "He was scared, said he was next. He said it wasn't him, that he thought he might know who it was. He had a perfect opportunity to kill me and he didn't take it-

"You think he was telling the truth?"

"Yes," she nodded hesitantly, frowning as she played the scene over again in her head. "He was petrified-

"But he hurt you," Draco growled as the blood reached her collarbone, reminding him of her bruises. "You're bleeding, Granger."

"Yes," she agreed distantly, barely listening to his words. "And he said-

"Let me see your head, Granger," he spoke in a softer voice. Her current state was suddenly more important than the revelations about Flint.

He expected her to argue but she slowly turned around so her back was to him. He paused before he reached out to her neck and pushed aside her hair. It was soft except for the sticky strands greased with her blood. His fingers softly trailed up her neck, moving aside the tresses and searching for the wound. He must have found it because he heard her whimper when he brushed away a particularly damp lock of hair.

"Hold still," he told her quietly.

He inhaled loudly as he eyed it but quickly grabbed his wand from him pocket and murmured a quick healing spell. He then traced his wand over the little stream of blood and muttered another incantation, watching as the blood disappeared as he stroked her skin with his wand.

She shivered a little at his actions but otherwise made no comment or movement. When he was done, he carefully pushed her shoulder so she would turn back to face him.

"Thank you," she offered him a weak smile. "But I'm honestly fine, Draco. We need to talk about this before I forget it."

"Alright," he nodded, pleased that she had stopped trembling and seemed more relaxed. "So you don't think he's the killer?"

"I know it's still a possibility," she admitted. "But he was hysterical and he seemed desperate, and he was convinced he would be the next victim."

"Did he say why?"

"No," she sighed. "He just wanted Harry and Terry to stop watching him, I'm guessing so he could leave."

"He could be lying, Granger," he reminded her sensibly. "This could just be a ploy, so he can do whatever he does unnoticed."

"I know," the witch whispered. "But then why didn't he kill me?"

He didn't know how to answer that. And at the back of his mind he doubted that Flint was really capable of murder. Even though he'd chosen to support Voldemort in the War, he'd barely played a part. The man may have been sadistic, but he wasn't quite psychotic.

"Okay," Draco exhaled slowly, deciding he would trust her judgement for the moment. "What do you want to do?"

"I need to tell Harry," she mumbled quickly. "And I need to tell Penelope to stay at Leandra's for tonight-

"I can do that," he assured her, rising from his couch. "I'll send them owls in a minute."

"Thank you," she looked up at him, amazed how he always seemed unaffected and confident about what to do. It made her feel secure.

"What about Flint?" he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," she muttered, searching his face like it would hold an answer. "A part of me thinks we should question him but I'm wondering if it's best to just keep watching him for now. If the killer does come after him, Harry would know, or if Flint was lying then Harry would notice anything strange."

"We'll do that then," Draco decided for her, grabbing some parchment and a quill from his coffee table. "What do you want me to tell Potter?"

"Just to keep an eye on Flint," she said with a cringe. "I'll tell him everything tomorrow. I know he'll get worried and want to see me but I don't have the energy to explain it all again tonight. I'll tell him tomorrow."

"Alright," Draco nodded as he scribbled a quick note to Potter. "And Clearwater?"

"Just say there's been an incident but keep it vague," she instructed, watching him thoughtfully. "Tell her it's best she stay at Leandra's tonight and I'll come over tomorrow morning."

"Fine," he absently nodded as he finished writing. "My owl's upstairs, I'll be back in a minute."

She watched him leave the room and hated that she felt nervous again without him there. She fidgeted on the sofa and picked at her fingernails, willing him to hurry. She could still feel the shadows of Flint's fingers marring her skin. Did she think he was the killer? No. Had Flint scared her? Yes.

She knew she was an Auror and had battled Death Eaters galore, but she had been completely alone. It was her own fault for walking home when she knew there was a killer around, hunting Muggle-borns. She really did need to be more careful. She heard him returning and she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"Done," he stated as she rose from her seat.

"Thank you."

"It's fine," he assured her, eyeing her features and satisfied that she had relaxed. He still wanted more details about Flint's behaviour, but she looked quite exhausted, and he decided his curiosity could wait until tomorrow.

She glanced around his room as a silence settled between them, and her gaze landed on his coffee table. Her eyes widened when she recognised the cover of the book, and she wandered over to pluck the novel with curious fingers. _Confessions of a Justified Sinner. _She'd told him to read this, and she was silently pleased that he had listened to her suggestion.

"You're reading it," she commented, looking over to him, and he shifted awkwardly. "You didn't say."

"We've hardly been on speaking terms recently," he reminded her with an arched eyebrow.

Her satisfied expression faltered as he spoke, deciding she really didn't want to recall their last week. It felt good to have him speak again, perhaps too good for her to really understand.

"So what do you think?" she asked him, hoping that the conversation could remain light.

"It's interesting," he admitted, and she was relieved that he'd avoided steering the conversation back to the tense days before now. "Some of the Scottish language is a bit difficult but I haven't read that much yet."

"Yes, Hogg's language is very hard at first," she agreed, stroking her fingers over the familiar pages. "But it gets easier as you go on. Have you read the part when Gil-Martin shows up yet?"

"No," he shook his head, amused by the way her face had instantly brightened as she discussed the text. "I also read the Heaney poems you recommended."

"You did?" she grinned, unable to suppress her delight at his statement. "Aren't they wonderful? Did you read 'Digging?' What did you think of-

"Granger," he approached her slowly. "It's late, if you really want to, we can talk about it in the morning."

"The morning?" Hermione questioned, obviously bewildered.

"Yes," he confirmed in a confident tone. "You are staying here tonight-

"Malfoy," the witch interrupted, looking away to hide her flustered face. He wanted her to stay? Here? Surely that wasn't wise. "That's not necessary, I'm sure I'll be fine-

"It wasn't an option, Granger," he smirked at her discomfort. "You're staying."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Exams are over! Thanks again for your reviews for the last chapter! Thanks to _Tiadorable _for pointing out my typo! Sorry, I can be rather complacent with things like that! And your review was just lovely so I appreciate it. Nothing beats a long review. And also thanks to everyone for all the the positive comments as they really do make me smile! Particular thanks to _scoobysnakz _and _Lovelydoves21 _for your reviews as I enjoyed reading them. I think you people are bad for me though, I started writing this chapter the minute after I'd updated, when I should have really been revising...ah well.

Hope this chapter was good despite the lack of steam between our favourites. Texts mentioned were James Hogg's _Confessions of a Justified Sinner _(amazing book...really makes you think!) and Seamus Heaney poems (just beautiful).

Let me know what you think, and I also enjoy reading all your theories. I decided before I started how this was going to end so I love reading who you think is the murderer! Maybe this chapter and Flint's appearance has changed a few opinions, maybe not. Let me know!

Thanks for reading.

Bex-chan


	14. Fragile

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 14: Fragile.

_._

_Surely he's joking..._

"Please," Hermione forced a patronising chuckle. "You're kidding-

"I seldom 'kid,' Granger," he said, irritated by her words. "You can't go home-

"Well I certainly can't stay here," she scoffed.

"Why not?"

"I think it's pretty obvious why," she eyed him sternly.

"If you're referring to what I think," Draco replied slowly. "Then you are overreacting."

"That depends," she tilted her head in thought. "What do you assume I'm referring to?"

"Don't try and head-fuck me, Granger," he scowled at her. "You know what I'm talking about; our kiss."

Hermione cringed at his blunt words. She found it rather fascinating how he could do that, sound calm and agitated at the same time. It was certainly a talent that she envied. She was articulate and brilliant, but he had the ability to frighten away her intelligence when it suited him. Bastard.

_I hope I'm not blushing._

"Well," she started in a strangled voice. "Then obviously you can see the problem-

"There's only a problem if you make one," he scolded. "I expected a bit more maturity from you, Granger."

"I just don't think it's appropriate," she frowned, evidently offended by his comment. "I could always stay with Ginny, or at the Burrow-

"But you came here instead," he reminded her. "Look, I have spare rooms, all with en suites, there really should be no issue with my offer."

"Malfoy-

"Unless," he stopped her, frustrated by her reluctance. "Your embarrassment about that _accident_ outweighs your concern for your personal safety?"

"Of course it doesn't," she sighed in defeat.

"Then it's settled," he smirked in victory. "I'll show you to a room."

With a resigned breath, she followed him with a secret smile of gratitude. His thought for her well-being stirred something close to flattery in her stomach, but she quickly ignored it. He led her upstairs in silence and she admired his home, noting with a little pout that his house was larger than hers. Still, it wasn't dark and traditional as she's expected, and she definitely approved of his colour choices; neutral colours with some inevitable flashes of deep green.

He guided her to a room with a queen-sized bed, cream walls and expensive furniture, including a writing desk and a couch. It was elaborate and stylish, and she could only imagine what his room was like if this was a guest-room. He flicked on a light and she offered him a small nod of consent.

"There are some books in the desk if you want to read something," he informed her with a dull tone, making his way into the room. "I'm pretty sure there's a copy of _Hogwarts: A History."_

She remained in the doorframe as he withdrew a few texts from a drawer and placed them within reach. He opened a door at the other end of the room to show her the promised en suite, before he made his way to the wardrobe. She couldn't see what was inside, but he shuffled through the contents for a moment before he selected a loose shirt and tossed it carelessly on the bed.

"That should be fine for you to sleep in," he supplied with a vague shrug before he neared her. "You are welcome to help yourself to a drink or anything-

"I'm fine," she offered him a tired smile, deciding that the duvet looked irresistibly comfortable. "This is perfect."

"My room is the door at the end of the hall," he explained, pointing to it just to clarify. "Knock if you need something."

"I will," she nodded, and he turned to leave her alone. She wasn't satisfied with the end of their conversation, and even though she knew she would regret the decision in less than a minute, she called his name anyway. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?" he stopped and turned back to her, cocking a wary brow when she nervously approached him.

She paused and studied his features for a shadow of a second, reading his confused expression with a sad look. He contemplated asking her another question to stop her disconcerting behaviour, but anything he would have said drowned in his throat when she leaned up to offer him a gentle peck on his cheek.

"Thank you, Draco," she breathed as she pulled away, catching his curious eyes for a second before she retreated into the room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Granger," he muttered, just before she closed the door.

.

* * *

.

Hermione waited to hear his retreating footfalls, holding her breath until she heard a door close. She removed her shoes and slipped out of her clothes, realising his shirt smelled like him; fresh and virile. The whole house smelled masculine and crisp actually, and she couldn't help but inhale as she fastened up the buttons of his shirt, feeling a little mischievous as the fabric tickled the skin high on her thigh.

She dragged her fingertips over his desk before she eyed the books he had left out for her. She decided that some Shakespeare would possibly help her sleep, and she plucked _Titus Andronicus_ from the small stack before settling in the bed.

After Act II, and the rape and mutilation of Lavinia, Hermione decided that she probably wasn't as tired as she had initially thought. Her body felt weary and slow, but her mind was alive with questions. She couldn't believe she'd been attacked! And she was an Auror! She should have been able to deal with one bloody man.

But no, she'd been caught off-guard, and she'd been tired. She was a decent Auror, she'd proved that many a time. Perhaps Flint's behaviour had teased her instincts, and she had needed to know his part in the case.

She glanced nervously at the door, just like she had seven times before. She couldn't help but think of those films and tales where the handsome protagonist disturbs the heroine in her sleep with bold pillow-talk. Not that she wanted that of course, she had simply considered it. Possibly expected it. Maybe waited for it.

She groaned in a rather undignified manner and threw off the heavy duvet before she silently tread over to the door and very carefully left the room. She tiptoed like a rebellious teen along the corridor and down the stairs, realising she probably should have brought her wand to chase the darkness. After bumping into a dresser and almost tripping over her own feet, she found herself in the kitchen.

After the fourth cupboard, she found a glass, and poured herself some water. Leaning against the worktop, she shuddered when a chill ran up her bare legs, and kissed the small lick of perspiration at the base of her back.

She heard a small shuffle and tensed as a faint glow seeped through the door, followed by a rather confused Malfoy, wearing more than clothes than her. A t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms to be exact. Damn, now she definitely felt...revealed. He directed his wand towards her and a small look of understanding stole his face, quickly followed by an arched brow. His eyes went from her naked ankles to her flushed cheeks, and she knew she had never felt more exposed, but she felt that sensitive area below her stomach twitch when he smirked at her.

"Did I wake you?" she breathed, bringing up her glass to hide the tremble of her lips.

"Yes," he stated simply, allowing the bead of light on his wand to disappear. "Everything okay?"

"I was thirsty," she lied, unsettled by the dark. "Could you create more light, please?"

"I was thinking you would be self-conscious," Draco muttered, ignoring her request. "Scared of the dark, Granger?"

"No," she said defensively. "I just find it a bit unsettling that I can't see you."

"I see," he sighed, and she heard him move. "Why should that bother you, Granger?"

"It just does," she whispered, closely watching his nearing shadow. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's fine," he said, and she could just make out a shrug.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted quietly, sensing him getting closer. "I was thinking about Flint. Do you suppose-

"We can discuss it in the morning," Draco insisted, leaning over her to grab a glass.

"Okay," Hermione nodded breathlessly as his body brushed against hers. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a drink," he replied, moving closer to her to reach the tap. "You're in the way, Granger."

"I guess I am," she agreed, moving a little but possibly not enough.

"You should go back to bed, Granger."

He was close enough now that she could just make out the lines and shadows of his face. Perhaps it was because he had offered her a bed for the night, or been surprisingly decent when she'd come to him feeling shaken. Only Merlin knew why she decided it would be a good idea to lift her fingers and gently stroke the tips over his cheekbones. And then his forehead, and down his nose.

She could feel his steady breaths against her palm, and her delicate touches landed on his lips. If he was affected by her actions in any way, she couldn't feel or see it. He just stood there, proud and indifferent. She felt like pushing boundaries tonight.

Draco watched her shadow as she slowly leaned towards him, tilting her head. It took every iota of his restraint to not throw her against the worktop and either surrender to his lust, or scream at her for daring to tempt him. Just when he could feel her breath against his chin, he decided to speak the words that he would undoubtedly regret when he next nursed an inappropriate erection.

"Go to bed, Granger," he scolded harshly, and he immediately felt her withdraw from him. He fought the disappointed sigh that threatened to betray him and listened as she hastily retreated out of his kitchen.

He slammed down his glass on the counter, uncaring if the noise startled her, and braced his hands against the worktop. Bowing his head, he released a groan that was a little heavier than he would have liked.

"Fuck all," he muttered to himself, waiting until he heard her door close before he made to leave. "I deserve a bloody sainthood for that."

.

* * *

.

When Hermione woke, the morning was still dark with November's hold, but a quick glance at a clock told her it was almost seven. She was pretty certain Draco would still be sleeping, and the dryness in her throat definitely needed quenching. She contemplated throwing on her jeans but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

She'd only stolen a few hours rest and she didn't want to waste her energy.

She opened her door and listened for any noise, hearing only Draco's light breathing from down the hall. Convinced that she could manage to grab a drink and make it back up before he stirred, she grabbed her wand and headed down the stairs, casting a quick _Lumos_ to lead her way.

She flicked on the kitchen light and cringed as the glare irritated her sleepy eyes. She rubbed them as she wandered into the kitchen and headed straight to the sink for a glass of water, totally oblivious to the guest sitting at the table.

"Well, this is an interesting development."

Hermione allowed a startled scream to escape her lips as she whirled around to aim her wand at the familiar voice. The fragile glass shattered somewhere behind her but she ignored it as she realised just who had given her such a scare.

"Zabini," she breathed in relief, lowering her weapon and placing her palm over her chest to calm the racing beats. "What are you-

"Hold on a second," he stopped her, smirking a little as he regarded her. "Let's just wait for Draco-

"He's asleep," Hermione explained, still catching her breath.

"He'll be here in a second," Blaise insisted, his amusement strong on his handsome face.

She was about to protest until she heard the mild but hurried footsteps from the upper floor. In a matter of seconds, Draco was in the room, bare-chested and clutching his wand. His frustrated eyes instantly went to her, absorbing her nervous stance, before he eyed the glass shards beside her.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I never thought you would be so clumsy-

"My fault, Draco," Blaise spoke up, finally gaining his friend's attention. "I gave her a bit of a scare."

Malfoy's eyes shot over to his companion questioningly before he looked back at Hermione and noted her revealing attire. He took a subconscious step forward to try and block some of her figure from his friend's sly and animated look.

"Blaise," Draco greeted finally. "What are you doing here?"

"You forgot?" the dark wizard stole another glance at Hermione. "I told you I had a day off and you said we should get an early breakfast and have a game of Qudditch. Some of my mates from work are meeting us later-

"Shit," the blond frowned, remembering that conversation now. "I forgot-

"I can see that," Blaise grinned, daring another bold glance at the silent Muggle-born. "I assume seven was too early for you?"

"Seven isn't early, Blaise," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Seven is just fucking stupid."

"Depends on your preference," Blaise shrugged. "Would you like to reschedule?"

Draco turned his head to eye Hermione for a moment, his eyes lingering on the bruises marring her throat. The little violet fingerprints stained her olive skin and reminded him that she could still be shaken about her encounter with with Flint, and he still didn't know the whole story. He turned back to his friend's entertained expression and exhaled.

"Perhaps we should postpone-

"Don't be silly," Hermione stopped him, earning his attention again. "I should go home-

"You think it's okay?" he asked her, cocking a hesitant eyebrow.

"I'm sure it's fine now," she assured him, telling herself that she wouldn't walk alone in the dark again until this was all over. "Besides, I need to explain everything to Harry and pick up Penelope. My house is safe, I just need to remember not to go strolling alone at night-

"Obviously," Draco rolled his eyes at her. "It wouldn't kill you to use some that of intelligence, Granger."

"Noted," she frowned at him, feeling a little embarrassed when she heard Blaise chuckle. "I'll owl you later so we can talk about everything properly."

"Alright," he agreed with a small nod, risking another peek at her shapely legs.

"I'll just get dressed then," she blushed as she moved past him and out of the room. Draco watched her leave with a nonchalant look before he slowly turned to to his companion, who was wearing a very smug smile.

"What?" Draco snapped, flicking his wand to clear the shattered glass.

"Well," Blaise chuckled, resting his chin against his palm. "Colour me intrigued."

"Don't start," the blond warned, taking a seat opposite his friend. "She needed a place to stay-

"So you offered your bed-

"She was attacked last night," Draco told him slowly, and Blaise's eyes widened in surprise. "She came here-

"Who attacked her?" Blaise questioned.

"Flint-

"As in Marcus Flint?" the dark-haired man confirmed. "So he's the one who killed Pansy and the others?"

"Granger doesn't think so," Draco shook his head. "Apparently he was a little paranoid and he told her he thought he was next. He figured out Potter was watching him so he threatened her, said he needed to leave."

"And you two believe him?"

"She does," Malfoy sighed. "I'm not so sure."

"Bloody hell," Blaise breathed, before his smirk returned. "So then I can assume the marks on her neck aren't from your mouth?"

"No," Draco growled, impatiently eyeing his companion. "I'm guessing he grabbed her throat at some point-

"So you didn't shag her?"

"No," he repeated, his anger rising.

"Well I have to say I'm a little relieved for that," Blaise admitted. "I know you're a changed man et cetera, but I can't see you shagging Mud...Muggle-born Granger."

"That's enough," Draco hissed, scowling at the other male, trying to ignore his mate's comment about Hermione's heritage. "I didn't fuck her, let's just leave it at that."

"Fair enough," he agreed, knowing the limits on Draco's temper, especially at seven in the morning. "Sorry mate, this whole equality thing still throws me every now and then."

"You're doing better than most," Malfoy sighed, knowing it was the truth. It was probably the main reason they had remained close over the years, even if Blaise slipped-up occasionally. If it hadn't been for the Ministry's hands-on approach to his prejudiced thoughts, he would probably be doing a lot worse than his schoolmates.

"You find it easy though," Blaise told him, a strange look stealing his features. "Funny, I bet most people would have thought you'd have struggled-

"I have worked with too many capable Muggle-borns to believe it any more," Draco admitted, not for the first time. He'd had similar discussions with Blaise before. "Plus my mother was never really a that into the whole blood purity thing. I think her and the Ministry have successfully un-brainwashed me-

"That's not a real word," Blaise chuckled, although Draco thought it sounded rather forced.

"I think that's enough for today," Draco sighed, still uncomfortable with discussing the War. "What time are we meeting your mates?"

"About nine."

"Shall I make us some breakfast?" the blond asked. "Or do you want to go out for food?"

"Why don't we go that café you always go on about?" Blaise suggested. "_The Cambria_?"

"Alight," he agreed, just as he heard Hermione's feet make their way down his stairs.

Fully-clothed and a little less nervous, she entered the kitchen and offered Blaise a polite smile before she turned to Draco.

"I'll owl you later," she nodded to her colleague. "Could you bring your notes on the suspect list in on Monday?"

"Will do," he nodded, wondering for a moment if she even remembered her affectionate displays last night, but a quick look at Blaise reminded him he couldn't exactly ask her now. "You remember where the fireplace is?"

"Yes," she graced him with a small smile. "Thank you, again."

"It's fine," he dismissed quickly, just knowing that Blaise would be smirking at his obvious discomfort.

"Enjoy your game," she said as she turned away from him, offering the other wizard a small nod. "Nice to see you again, Zabini."

"Always a pleasure, Granger," Blaise grinned as she departed, waiting for the hum of the Floo before he spoke again. "I think I preferred her in your shirt. Never would have guessed the little bookworm would have-

"Zabini," Draco warned in a low tone. "It's too early for you to be a twat. Give me an hour and some breakfast and I can deal with it then."

.

* * *

.

Hermione had decided to see Penelope first and it was pushing nine o'clock by the time she returned home, having had to explain everything to Leandra. When Flooed back to her house with her fellow Muggle-born, Harry was already waiting for her, seated on her sofa with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm going back to bed," Penelope excused herself, sensing the two needed privacy.

"Who's watching Flint?" the witch questioned as Penelope wandered off to the room Hermione had provided.

"Terry will be there in half an hour," Harry explained, reaching up to study the blemishes on her neck. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, smiling at his consideration.

"Tell me everything."

So she did, she explained how he had grabbed her. How Flint had known he was being watched and how he had neared begged her to to tell Harry and Terry to stop watching him. How he'd been convinced he was the next victim, and even how he had seemed petrified. She told her best friend that she believed Flint, and she'd received scepticism that rivalled Draco's after that little confession. The only thing she left out was that she'd stayed the night at a certain blond wizard's house.

The conversation was finally diverted to Ginny's pregnancy, although Harry still managed to throw in a few 'be careful' comments.

"You're obviously going to be the Godmother," he told her.

"I just can't believe you're going to be a father," Hermione smiled at him, stifling a yawn and realising she'd barely managed four hours sleep last night. She was heading straight to bed once he left, her body was craving it.

"I know," he sighed happily. "I'm glad Ginny seems to be confident because I don't have a clue."

"Nonsense," she hushed his doubt. "You're great with Teddy."

"We'll see," he replied with a slow yawn. "Do you think-

But he was cut off when Terry's patronus charged into Hermione's living room. The fox-shaped charm paused its ghostly steps in front of Harry, and Terry's voice filled the room.

_Flint is dead. Come asap. _

The beautiful spell dissipated as the pair absorbed the information. Hermione was on her feet first,dragging her trembling fingernails through her hair. How could it be possible? Flint had barely been alone for thirty minutes, but then Justin had barely been alone for thirty minutes in his office. She was angry, despising the guilt she felt.

_You could have brought him in for questioning. _

_You could have offered him some protection._

_He told you he was next, and you did nothing._

"Fucking hell!" she swore, grabbing one of her vases and hurling it against her wall. Her breath hitched as she watched ceramic rain sprinkle down her wall. It was stunning.

"Hermione," Harry reached for her, placing a reassuring palm against her back. "Calm down-

"No!" she shook her head furiously, throwing his hand away from her. "How could he have possibly known you had gone, and managed to kill Flint in half an hour? It's just not possible. Did you have any idea he knew you were watching Flint?"

"No," Harry shook his, his tone trained and calm. "Hermione, we know this guy is smart. He managed to kill someone in the Ministry for Merlin's sake. I should have waited for Terry to come-

"Don't do that," she sighed. "It's impossible to watch someone all the time. You couldn't have known."

"Then don't you dare blame yourself," he said sharply. "I know that look on your face, Hermione."

"What should I do?"

"Get some sleep," he suggested, patting her shoulder thoughtfully. "You look knackered. Do your work after you've had a nap."

"Okay," she nodded, doubting she would obey his words.

"I need to go and deal with this," he turned away from her, rushing to the Floo. "I'll owl you as soon as I can."

Hermione barely had a chance to nod before the emerald flames engulfed him and she was left alone. She stood still for a few moments, staring at the fireplace before her eyes wandered over to the fractured vase. She was about to withdraw her wand and clean up the mess but decided against it.

She preferred it broken.

She moved over to her desk and scribbled a note to Draco. The quill felt so heavy in her hand, and she wondered briefly if she could apply the phrase 'light as a feather' to add a bit of irony to her situation.

_Draco,_

_Flint's dead. _

_Come over when you can. _

_H. Granger._

With sluggish movements, she attached her letter to May's leg and watched as the pretty bird flew away from her. The guilt pushed the tears past her lids and she let them fall silently down her cheeks. She counted them. One, two, three, four, and then they stopped. Weary determination seeped into her pores and she clenched her jaw.

She'd be damned if she let this get the better of her. No, she'd dealt with enough blood-thirsty psychopaths to let this one beat her.

But, Merlin, she felt exhausted.

.

* * *

.

They'd been playing for an hour now, and Draco was starting to grow bored, and the winter wind wasn't helping.

Draco was swarming around on his broom with his new acquaintances when he noticed Hermione's owl approaching. He lowered himself to the ground and dismounted his Firebolt to allow the familiar bird to rest on his arm. As soon as Malfoy had managed to remove the small parchment from the owl's limb, it took off, leaving him a little perplexed. He read the few words with wide eyes, groaning as the new information settled in his brain.

"Draco," he heard Blaise's voice call him. "Everything okay?"

"Problem at work," Malfoy told his friend as he landed next to him. "Flint's dead."

"Shit," he muttered as Draco showed him the note. "Do you need to leave?"

"Sorry, mate," the blond explained, receiving a nod of understanding before he Apparated to Hermione's home. She was by the window, so engrossed in her thoughts she was oblivious to Draco's arrival.

"Granger," he spoke carefully, watching her as she slowly turned to face him. "Are you alright?"

"I've had enough of this," she muttered, and he could just make out the damp remains of tears between her lashes. "We need to do something."

"Hermione," he sighed her name, frowning as she moved away from the window with lethargic movements. "We're doing everything within our power-

"No," she interrupted, her voice husky with exhaustion. "He's winning and we have to stop it."

Draco watched her as she practically dragged herself towards him. He could almost sense the guilt radiating from her, and he knew she had barely slept at his house. That, combined with the new stress, was evidently sucking the energy out of her.

She looked fragile as she stumbled towards him, grasping desperately at the arm he'd offered to steady her. Her eyes fluttered, battling her fatigue with little success.

"You need to sleep, Granger," he told her sternly, scowling when she accidentally nuzzled her nose against his chest. "You can hardly hold your head up."

"We need to work on this," she argued, but her voice was empty and quiet. "We need to-

"You need rest," he insisted, and with a dejected moan, she nodded her acceptance.

His arm reached around her back, and the other caught the backs of her knees. He tried to make the hold as impersonal as possible, but it was rather difficult with her leaning pliantly against his chest. He carefully carried her to her bedroom, relieved that she'd been conscious enough to tell him which door it was.

He settled her gently on the large bed and draped a blanket over her form as she allowed her pillows to embrace her. Satisfied that she was comfortable and would actually allow herself to sleep, he headed for her door, but her voice stopped him.

"Will you stay?" she mumbled, her eyes drifting open for a moment. "So we can work on this the moment I wake up?"

"Just go to sleep," Draco ordered, quickly leaving the room with every intention of making a quick exit via the fireplace. Instead he settled on her couch, realising he was indeed going to wait until she roused.

Merlin, help him. He couldn't bring himself to disappoint her.

.

* * *

.

a/n: apologies for the short chapter, but I intend to make things a bit more interesting in the next instalment and it needs to end there for now. I hope Blaise's part in this chapter came across okay!

Let me know your thoughts! Massive thanks to _Quello Bella,_ _VioletDhaliwal, Tiadorable _for your long reviews and to everyone who reviewed, especially the people who took the time to reveal their theories. So happy I'm past the 100 review mark! I'm very grateful.

Also, if anyone has any suggestions for making my summary a bit better, I wold appreciate it!

I assure you that things will get more interesting from here.

Thanks for reading.

Bex-chan


	15. Strawberries

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 15: Strawberries.

.

Hermione poured the boiled water into the two mugs, adding a bit more milk to Draco's. An amused smile toyed with her lips, brought on by Draco's obvious disappointment when she had told him she didn't have any Earl Grey in the house. Perhaps she would buy some next time she went shopping. Just to be safe. After using her wand to stir the coffees, she headed back to her living room and placed the green mug in front of her blond guest.

"I don't know how you can drink it black," he told her, watching as she took the armchair, instead of joining him on the couch. "It tastes like shit."

"Matter of opinion," she hummed, taking a healthy swig of her beverage. "There are a lot of Europeans who would disagree with you. I bet you Blaise drinks his black."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he's Italian, isn't he?" Hermione questioned, receiving a quick nod. "Well they love their coffee, I bet he has espressos-

"I've never really taken any notice," Draco stopped her with a roll of his eyes. "The drinking habits of my friends don't really interest-

"We're digressing," she sighed. "Were you still playing Quidditch when you got my owl?"

"Yes," he nodded, watching with both dread and fascination as a look of tenacity took over her face.

"How long had you been playing?"

"About an hour," he decided after a small pause.

"I don't suppose," Hermione ventured, grabbing a quill and her files. "That you were playing with any of your old schoolmates so I can rule them out? If any of the ex-Death Eaters were playing then they couldn't have done-

"You know I don't see them any more," Draco frowned. "They were some lads from Blaise's offices, but none of them were from Hogwarts. Just Blaise and I."

"Damn," she breathed, obviously disappointed. "I mean I figured as much, it was just wishful thinking."

"Granger," Draco leaned forward, almost cautiously. "You seem less...affected by Flint's death than the others."

"He wasn't exactly a nice man," she reasoned, absently stroking her bruised neck. "At least Parkinson and Nott managed to live like normal people. Even Goyle stayed away from the dark, like you...

She trailed off, fixing him with a distant look. She considered him carefully for a moment, and he shifted awkwardly as her eyes studied him. Her eyes scrutinised his face like she'd never seen it before and she felt something in her chest drop to her stomach.

"What about me?" he questioned, uncomfortable with the thoughtful look she was giving him.

"You have proven me wrong," she breathed finally, reluctantly looking away from him. "You have-

"What does that have to do with Flint?" Draco asked her, sensing the conversation was getting too particular for his liking. He had made the decision to distance himself from her and he intended to stick to it. Even if she did look ridiculously alluring with her pensive, and almost lost expression. She looked uninhibited, and his imagination adored it.

"Perhaps nothing," she mumbled, anxiously toying with her work. "I guess it's easier to be professional when I didn't particularly like the victim. I don't think I got much work done after Justin-

"You were fine," he reassured her, taking some of her notes to share the load. "I don't think you could put off work if you tried, Granger."

"I'm letting too many people down," she ignored his attempt at humour, hiding her face in her hands. "Can we just work through everything, please? I don't want to stop until we find something useful. I just-

"We'll work on it as long as you want, Granger," he offered, resisting the compulsion to offer her more comfort. That would defiantly go against his resolve to remain detached.

.

* * *

.

On the Tuesday, Hermione Flooed to Bateman Manor near Epsom, a beautiful building that few would get to see due to the Fidelius Charm. Henry Bateman was waiting for her in an antique armchair in his study, complete with ageing bookcases and pretentious busts of ancestors. She was a little disappointed to say that Bateman was everything she would have expected from Pansy's husband.

The wizard couldn't have been younger that fifty, with Arctic-fox hair and a wrinkle-folded face. He was handsome in that refined way, and she suspected that he could have recommended a list of tasty wines with dates and accents that would have rivalled a connoisseur. He was wealthy, that much was obvious, but his arrogance penetrated her. She would have said it was similar to Draco's, but it wasn't. Malfoy had a definite elegance and charm to his cockiness, whereas Bateman just seemed downright insolent.

"Miss Granger," he greeted, gesturing for her to take the least interesting of the chairs in the room. "You're late."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, not really meaning it. "I've been busy with everything-

"Will this take long?" he inquired, sizing her up, although for what she didn't know.

"Hopefully not," she exhaled, earning a snort from him. "I juts have a few questions-

"Get on with it," he ordered, reaching for a glass of what looked like brandy. "The less time I spend with the famous and supposedly _great_ Muggle-born Auror, who can't even track down one little murderer, the fucking better."

Hermione's teeth clamped down on her tongue and she stiffened at his words. She couldn't deny that they had agitated a nerve, but she refused to be drawn into a screaming match with a stranger over her capability as an Auror and investigator. She was already questioning herself enough without some pompous aristocrat trying her nagging qualms.

"Quite," she managed to tut, removing her writing equipment to take notes. "So, why exactly did Pansy keep her maiden name?"

"It was one of her requests," he shrugged. "She had a list of conditions for our arrangement."

"Arrangement?" Hermione repeated. "You mean marriage?"

"Come now, Miss Granger," he sneered in a patronising tone. "It's pretty obvious that our marriage was more out convenience than anything else. She needed security, and I wanted a beautiful wife who would provide me with an heir."

"You didn't love each other?" she questioned, finding the revelation quite sad.

"I loved her," he confessed. "But she never loved me, nor did she ever deceive me by claiming she did. But she respected and trusted me and she was a compassionate woman when I required it. I didn't particularly like her conditions of our marriage, but I agreed anyway as I desired her company."

"Could any of these conditions have contributed to her death?" the witch asked carefully.

"She was having an affair," the older wizard sighed with a weary voice. "I agreed that she could have sex with with other men, as long as she was honest with me and used the Contraceptive Charm. I didn't want there to be any doubt about paternity if she ever got pregnant."

"I see," Hermione said awkwardly. "Why do you think her infidelity is related to her murder?"

"She only ever slept with one man," he explained, his face creasing with stressed lines. "Someone she knew from Hogwarts. I never asked for a name because I didn't want to know, but I know he was violent towards her."

"How do you know that?"

"She came home with bruises sometimes," he explained. "And not the kind one gets from sex. I heard her crying a few times too, but she always returned to him. I asked her not to but she insisted she was fine. But things got worse a few weeks before her death."

"Can you elaborate, please?" she requested, quickly writing her notes.

"She came home with a broken arm one day," he revealed, scrunching his face in distress. "She started becoming more jittery, and she received a lot of owls that she would read in private. She would always destroy them after she'd read them but I could see she was scared."

"You never managed to read any of them?" Hermione asked. "Or maybe saw the owl who delivered them?"

"No," he shook his head, taking another long swig of his drink. "But I knew she felt threatened. About a week before her murder, she told me that she was grateful for what I'd given her and told me her requests should she die. Just simple things like funeral preferences, but it was obvious she thought she was going to die. I tried to stay around her as much as possible after that. I only popped into work for two hours that day, and when I came home she was dead."

"Did she say anything revealing to you?" she wondered aloud. "Any sort of hint about her lover?"

"No," he replied, his voice a little strained. "And believe me, I looked after it happened. All she would tell me was that she knew him from Hogwarts and that he didn't have a good reputation, but then neither did Pansy and most of her friends after their roles in the War."

"Do you know if she would have told any of her friends?" Hermione questioned, thinking of Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.

"We agreed that she wouldn't tell anyone of her lovers before we got married," he revealed. "I didn't want anyone to know and I had my reputation to consider. I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but Pansy's secret died with her."

.

* * *

.

"Listen to this," Hermione spoke with irritation. "'Flint's murder is the sixth to shock the Wizarding Community, and yet my sources reveal that Hermione Granger and her team are no closer to finding the culprit. It is only natural that the public should start questioning Miss Granger's capability, and I have received many letters regarding concerns-

"Granger," Draco stopped her, unsuccessfully attempting to snatch _The Daily Prophet _from her fingers. "Stop reading that shit-

"Hang on a second," she shushed him, her eyes darkening as she studied the newspaper. "Let me just read you the best part-

"For Salazar's sake," he groaned, taking a sip of his Earl Grey. "I fail to see the point to this-

"Hush," she rolled her eyes at him, continuing to quote Skeeter's words. "'The supposed _Brightest Witch of our Age_ is turning into a massive disappointment for the Ministry and perhaps it's time Shacklebolt found someone who can actually deliver-

"Alright," Draco interrupted her again, managing to grab the offending paper this time. "You know Skeeter has it in for you, are you really that surprised she's libelling you?"

"It still pisses me off," she hissed between her teeth. "Merlin, she gets under my skin."

"Calm yourself, Granger," he advised, watching as the emotions on her face relaxed a little. "Just finish your food and we'll get back to work."

It was Thursday, and the press was finally calming down after swarming around the Ministry following Flint's death, but they'd agreed it was best to have lunch in the office. She'd tucked into the predictable ham and pickle sandwich, but today she had accompanied her light lunch with a little dessert.

She leaned back in her chair, reaching to pluck one of her strawberries and dip it in her small tub of yoghurt. When Draco had seen the little addition to her usual food, he'd had a feeling that it would alter his reactions to her, but not as much as it did. When she brought the fruit to her mouth, and the yoghurt left a milky gloss on her bottom lip, he had to swallow back his surplus saliva.

The sweet little sucking noises that passed her damp lips caused his lower torso to tighten and he tore his eyes away from her. He tried hard to concentrate on the words before him, but his ears were tormented by the wet sounds leaving her throat. She took another one and repeated the action, this time finding it necessary to release a private moan, but he caught it, and it made his groin twinge.

That blasted tension seeped back into the room, clawing down his his spine, but only he seemed to notice. He kept his head down but glanced under his blond lashes as she ate one after the other, willing her to finish soon. Just a few more and it would be fine. His office would return to a dull shell, and not a stage for her sensual feeding habits.

She dared to smother a bit more yoghurt on her next strawberry, and just when it was a few inches from her tongue, a little drop fell down on her chest. Draco felt his stomach twist.

"Bugger," she mumbled.

Holding the fruit between her teeth, her fingers went to scoop up white dribble by her collarbone, oblivious that Draco was fixated on it. She shifted in her seat, and the movement caused the liquid to trickle lower, beyond the collar of her shirt, and Hermione's fingers followed it. That snapped Draco out of his trance and he hastily rose from his seat and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked him with a slightly full mouth, and that didn't help him at all.

"Toilet," he groaned, rushing to leave his office.

He loosened the top buttons of his shirt as he paced to the Department bathroom, thankful it was empty. He muttered a quick locking spell and a silencing charm on his cubicle just in case. With desperate fingers, he undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, grabbing his erection with sweaty palms.

His fist moved quickly, just working on freeing the pressure below his abdomen. He braced himself against the wall, his back rigid as he felt it rise, and with a loud grunt it left him. He shuddered as the brief rapture passed over him, the small and undignified cubicle filled with his shallow pants.

With another tremble, he reached down to his trouser pocket and removed his wand, cleaning up his mess and also removing some of the sweat on his body. He righted his clothes and composed himself as best as he could.

If she ever brought strawberries into his office again, he would transfigure them into slugs and watch her squirm.

.

* * *

.

Hermione jumped when Draco shouldered his way back into the office, and her eyes followed him as he walked past her back to his seat. He cleared his throat as he settled back down, his mind still a little hazy after his wank.

Her glassy stare watched him, taking in every inch of him. From the slightly serene but dark glaze in his eyes, to the slow movements of his hands as he fingered his notes. He looked disturbed and calm at the same time, and when a raspy sigh passed his lips, she blinked.

He reached for his bottle of water and wrapped his mouth around the tip, delicately gripping the neck and shoulders of the plastic. She'd read enough poetry to spot the metaphor her brain was amusing, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered their kiss.

It had almost been two weeks ago now but she'd been distracted, initially with avoiding him and then with Flint. The nagging tension that had settled between them after the kiss had been broken by a combination of perseverance to ignore each other and the chaos that had accompanied Flint's actions and death.

_But now._

Now they were back the familiar chatting, almost the flirting she thought she craved.

Yes, she was craving it now. She wanted his attention.

The almost feral expression on his face reminded her of the kiss, and the way his lips touched the bottle stirred something between her thighs. Something exciting. He really was so striking to observe. It was like his face was designed to be touched, caressed and kissed.

But she couldn't act on it. No. She had succumbed to the temptation to kiss him at his house, and he had rejected her. He was over whatever spark had passed between them. If he'd been at all affected by her, he'd successfully fought it away, leaving her to mull over her desire to touch him. And relive his mother's birthday. Replay the kiss.

Besides all that, he was Draco Malfoy. And maybe he wasn't the Muggle-hating bastard she remembered, but he was still an infamous seducer, known for sweet-talking women into his bed. She couldn't be one of those girls. She pitied those girls, even if she now understood them a little better.

No, he was bad news. A dangerous lure she would not fall victim to.

"Everything okay, Draco?" she asked, feeling she should talk. "You look a little flustered?"

"I'm fine," he snarled, fixing her with a cold look. "Let's just get on with this."

And just like that, the pulse between her legs died. At the end of the day, they were colleagues and they had a job to do, a very serious one at that. So she huffed in response and slouched in her seat, reminding herself that he really was an arrogant twat when it suited him.

_Wanker. _

.

* * *

.

"Are we still meeting tomorrow?" Draco asked her and she shuffled through the Trace reports. "Because if we are, you'll have to come to the Manor instead."

"Fine," Hermione barked, baring her teeth for a second.

Draco rolled his eyes. He had almost forgotten that Fridays meant she was a snarky bitch. He still had no idea why, and it irritated his curiosity, but considering how catastrophic his last attempt to find out the reason had gone, he left it alone. Begrudgingly.

"Do you want to meet later?" he questioned, noting she looked more distressed than angry. "We haven't had a chance to discuss the new Traces."

"I'm busy," she sighed, and he knew she was lying. "Besides, there's nothing there. I've checked. If anything they're all being less active than normal."

"Well, who are Potter and Boot watching at the moment?"

"They started watching Lucian Bole today," she revealed, her tone still distant. "They only finished...dealing with Flint's murder last night. Harry's coming back for the weekend tonight to visit Ginny, so he said he'd pop over with all his information about Flint."

"Why is Potter having the weekend off?" Draco asked with a frown.

"Ginny's pregnant," Hermione reminded him. "I told you on Monday."

"Ah, yes," Draco mumbled, his face scrunching in distaste. "I had blocked out the prospect of Potter breeding-

"Draco," she shot him a warning glance, telling him she was not in the mood for his condescending views on Harry.

"Fine," he ignored her lack of humour with a blasé wave. "So Boot will be watching Bole alone?"

"Neville will be covering for Harry-

"Longbottom?" Draco confirmed, shaking his head. "Boot would probably be better off alone-

"Malfoy," she stopped him, giving him her best frustrated glare. "Neville is a very good Auror. Stop being such an arse today."

"I'm being no more of an arse today than I am any other day," he smirked at her, desiring to rouse at least an amused chuckle from her, but he was unsuccessful.

"As true as that statement is," she growled. "I'm not in the mood for your little remarks about my friends today-

"Because it's Friday," he pointed out, unable to resist. "And that means you're-

"Enough, Draco," she said quietly, her eyes tired. "Don't start that again."

"Come now, Granger," he tried to calm her. "You need to relax a little-

"I don't have time to relax," she breathed, her voice weary and soft. "Let's just get on with work, Malfoy. Please?"

He hesitated, regarding her closely as his tongue licked his teeth inside his mouth, before he offered her a quick nod. If he didn't find out what testing her patience on Fridays soon, he was going to slip some Veritaserum into her coffee. Or maybe into her strawberries.

.

* * *

.

It was Saturday, and Penelope had just Flooed to Leandra's house so Hermione could join Draco for their meeting at the Manor. She smoothed out the creases of her white shirt and black trousers for the eighth time. They'd agreed that she'd come round about five, but it was only four and she was ready, raring to go. She wondered if it was perhaps inappropriate to go early but figured Draco wouldn't care, as long as she wasn't late.

She realised she felt a little nervous, but then she always did in the moments before they met, especially when it was outside his office. It was a good nervous though, like the butterflies held promising notions. Either that or they were plotting her downfall.

Whatever they were doing, they caused her to run her fingers over herself again, and with a resolute nod, she shouted Draco's address and dropped the Floo powder. His familiar living room was empty, as she had expected, but when she wandered into the corridor, she spotted a a familiar house-elf.

"Mopsy," she greeted the little soul. "Could you tell me where Draco is, please?"

"Of course, Miss Granger!" the small creature beamed, guiding her down the hallway. "I will takes you there, this way Miss!"

She followed Mopsy to a section of the Manor she'd never seen before and she admired the beautiful and elaborate décor. This section of the Mansion had clearly evaded Narcissa's redecorating, but the Eighteenth-Century furnishings were beautiful nonetheless. The house-elf stopped at a set of double-doors, and with a small 'thank you,' Hermione pushed them open.

Her eyes widened as she took in the room, first absorbing the dark green tiles that lined the walls. The particular scent of water and something close to Chlorine found her nose, and alarm bells went off in her head. She'd expected another lounge or study, and it clearly wasn't.

She was reminded of the prefects bathroom in Hogwarts as her feet carried her into the room. She could hear the gentle lapping of water and she walked along the little entrance, noticing the ivory reflections of water illuminating the ceiling. It was dimly lit, just as the Hogwarts bathrooms had been, and instinct told her she was either about to see an indoor pool, or one of Malfoy Manor's bathroom.

The tile floor gave way to aquamarine-coloured water, and Hermione found herself a little relieved that it was indeed an indoor pool, perhaps twelve metres long and six metres wide. She also found herself rather annoyed that Mopsy had failed to mention this significant detail.

The fleeting remnants of her sanity warned her to turn around and leave, but her ever-present curiosity hushed them. She barely registered her shoes slapping against the cold tiles as her eyes caught a disturbance in the water.

There he was, swimming leisurely around his pool in loose black trunks, his back to her and completely oblivious to her presence. Her breath hitched as his head went under for a moment, and she watched his blurred shape move with a very inappropriate fascination.

When he came up for air, flicking his platinum hair out his eyes, she took a subconscious step forward, and the sound ricocheted off the emerald walls, causing her to flinch. He whipped around in the water, his eyes widening slightly as he recognised her.

"Granger," his deep voice echoed in the room, and she could hear something close to amusement behind his voice. "What are you-

"Sorry," she stuttered clumsily, turning her face away from him. "Mopsy guided me here and failed to mention that you would be swimming."

"You're early," he commented, wading his way to the edge. "I didn't expect you for another hour or so."

"I know," she nodded, still guarding her eyes. "I...I thought I might come a bit early to, you know, get started."

"I see," Draco drawled, pausing to haul himself out of the water with his usual grace. She risked a glance at him as he neared her and quickly regretted it. A wet and half-naked Malfoy was defiantly the worst kind.

"If I'd have know you were...busy," she continued, knowing her tone sounded panicked. "I would have waited in a study or something-

"It's alright, Granger," he shrugged casually, making his way over to a bench and picking up a grey towel. "We'll get started now."

"Okay," she agreed, intending to turn around. "I'll just wait-

"You're blushing, Granger," he stated, obviously just dying to chuckle at her discomfort.

"You're half-naked," she reminded him, still covering her very curious gaze with her palm.

"You've seen me like this before," he reminded her with a shrug, but her hand still refused to budge. "Come on, Granger. We're both adults here."

His tone was almost encouraging, and her hand slowly left her face for her eyes to observe him. She tried to stop them looking over his lean form, decorated with beads of water that would fall in the creases of his body, but her brain craved to learn his shape. He had that typical seeker physique, with strong arms and subtle yet athletic bumps and dips to his frame. She refused to glimpse lower than his navel, even though she was yearning to, and she just willed her eyes to appear indifferent to him.

She knew it was wishful thinking though. She may as well have allowed a small trickle of drool to seep down her chin.

"Right," she choked out, wondering why he was holding the towel but refusing to use it. "I'll just-

"Something bothering you, Granger?" he smirked at her, evidently enjoying her anxiety.

"I'll wait for you in the study," she spoke with fickle confidence, turning to leave. "I'll see you in a second-

"You disappoint me," he announced, an obvious challenge to his words that made her pause her attempt to leave. "You're no fun, Granger."

"I am fun," she defended, twirling back around to face him.

"Prove it," he demanded, his voice low and enticing.

Determination flashed in her stare, and she eyed him with something close to scheming notions that a Slytherin might praise. She neared him with a few small steps and he watched her expectantly, mocking her with an arched eyebrow. An idea sparked in her mind, and a small smile twitched on her lips. With quick actions, she reached out to grab his arm, and with a surge of strength she pushed him into the pool.

She didn't think he would instinctively grab onto her and drag her with him.

She gasped just before the water engulfed her, and her confused arms pushed her to the surface. Draco was already above the water when she realised what had happened, and she coughed away the water, trying to gain her breaths, while he calmly hid his surprise.

Their quick pants reverberated in the room, and Draco watched her closely as she quickly turned her eyes to him, reaching to rest herself against the edge of the pool. He was dying to mock the situation, but he had a feeling she would be agitated and mortified that he had pulled her in with him, fully-clothed. He was so glad he was wrong.

She started giggling lightly, her face relaxed and entertained as her laughs filled the room. She closed her eyes for a moment and he took a few strokes towards her as the laughing died down.

"That was childish, Granger," he told her, settling his feet on the bottom of the pool, and the water stopped at his chest.

"You should have seen your face," she beamed, too amused to really pay attention to him getting closer.

"I'm sure it was fascinating," the sarcasm dripped from his voice.

He exhaled as he stared openly at her, her hair clinging to her forehead and neck like syrup. There were little gems of water tucked between her dark lashes and caught in her eyebrows. There was a particular bead of water that he followed as it trailed along the line of her jaw, before falling back into the pool just before it reached her chin.

He realised that the liquid had turned her shirt translucent, and it was pressed against her sun-stained skin. He could make out the shadow of a green bra and his pulse quickened.

_Green? That's just too bloody perfect. _

He went a little closer, maybe two feet between them now, and he just waited for her to make an escape or tell him to back away. His eyes went back to her damp face, and he saw that all the humour had drained away from her exquisite features. She was just watching him, with an expression between anxiety and understanding. He saw her swallow, and her tongue flicked over her bottom lip for just a second.

He was close enough now that could brace an arm either side of her figure, and she leaned against the edge as much as she could, apparently trying to put distance between them. She could feel every whisper of his steady breaths against her wet skin, reacting with the water. Her eyes left his to look at his barely-parted lips, which set into a thin line as he assumed she was averting her gaze.

"Go on then, Granger," he spoke suddenly, and she made a small noise of surprise. His voice was so husky it made her want to tremble. "Tell me to back off."

She didn't. Her eyes flew back to his with a blissful look of acceptance, and with brazen fingers, she reached for his face.

.

* * *

.

a/n: I would say I'm sorry to end it there but I'd be lying. Hope you liked that chapter because it was bloody good fun writing it. Let me know what you think. The next chapter's already half-done so it should be up soon. I wanted to wait a while before I posted this (it's only been 2 day since the last chappy) but it's 5 AM and a few glasses of wine have made me restless for feedback on this chapter. I await your opinions!

Bex-chan


	16. Water

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 16: Water.

.

She splayed her fingers over his jaw and neck and took a calming breath before she leaned in. With her eyes squeezed shut, she missed the slight widening of his eyes, but she felt the faintest of gasps against her lips. She rushed to kiss him, paranoid that he would pull away from her or that the moment would be stolen.

She sighed into his mouth when he started to kiss her back, his hands gently coming to rest on her sides. It was softer than last time; she was nervous and he felt reluctant to completely accept her gesture, but she needed more. She pushed further into his mouth, boldly nudging her tongue deeper, trying to get her need across.

He felt her actions becoming more frantic, more passionate, and he fought the growl in his throat. He couldn't quite believe this. Here she was, surrendering sweet kisses, and the thoughts in his head were roaring at him to stop this. The last time they had done this, she'd almost had a panic-attack, and they had done nothing but scream at each other or suffer laden silences for a fortnight.

They had only just gotten over that uncomfortable strain, and now she was recreating the situation that had started it all to begin with. He had sworn he would distance himself from her. He had vowed to ignore his nagging urges to touch her.

Her fingernails grazed over a sensitive spot just behind his ear, and that scratching growl fell into her mouth.

_Sod it. _

He shoved himself against her, relishing how petite her body felt, flush up against the pool's edge. Her drenched clothes were tightly hugging her skin, allowing him to feel every inch of her against his chest, and it was doing terrible things to his insides. He reached one hand up to her face, grasping the back of her head to bring their mouths just that little bit closer.

As their actions became more frenzied and desperate, the water splashed around them, mingling with the wet sounds of the kiss. Her teeth tugged at his lip, and that bite caused the last of his qualms to dissipate, perhaps along with his sanity.

He wanted to get as close to her body as he could, pulling at her and pushing her against the edge at the same time. His hands varied between holding her face or clutching her waist, unable to decide which position brought her closer. Her fingers went from from his shoulders, flicking receptive parts of his throat and then sometimes combing through his soaking hair.

The kisses and touches were getting wilder now, more heated, and the heavy breaths that leaked between the uninhibited sucking and stroking echoed off the tiles. She arched her back and another one of his lusty groans hummed against her tongue. She still wasn't close enough to him though.

His mouth dipped to her throat, knowing that at any moment she could shove him away, just like last time. He needed to touch as much of her as he could, and his chest thudded when she released a loud sigh against his ear. He could still taste her natural scent under the droplets of water and he hungered for it.

He was so aware that she could ruin it any time. He craved more of her before she snapped out of her trance.

His fingers went to the buttons of her shirt, racing to release them. He thought maybe that would break the spell, but just as he managed to pluck away the last button, he felt her leg wrap around his calf. He roughly peeled away the shirt, immediately bowing to lick a line from her chin down to her collar bone.

His hand went down to grasp her raised thigh and he hitched it higher, relishing the friction the water, her trousers and his trunks were causing. He was already stiff, and he knew she could feel it, but she still didn't stop him. Quite the opposite, she angled her back again, just as his kisses had reached the lacy fringe of her bra, her excited breaths tickling his neck.

His hands moved to rest against her ribs, and for a moment he just paused to watch the quick fluctuations of her chest, and he rubbed his thumbs over the material of her bra. She intentionally rocked her hips against him, a small guttural noise rumbling in her mouth, and his head went up to catch the remains of it with another kiss.

His thumbs worked on easing down the cups of her bra, and he bent back down to freckle them with his lips, nipping lightly at her raised flesh. She tilted her head back and spoiled herself with a pleased smile as his hands moved from her breasts, back into the water to stroke down her stomach. She pulled at his face to take another kiss, grasping his back to throw her other leg over his hip, loving that she felt weightless in the water.

With definite sways of her hips, she ground against him with a confidence she had no idea she'd possessed. But the moment and the sensations were riding her, refusing to give either of them an opportunity to think twice about it. His fingers reached between them, seeking the zip of her trousers.

He found it, just as he heard the doorknob to the room turn. He broke the kiss and tensed, quickly pressing his palm against Hermione's lips. He risked a glance at her eyes and immediately regretted it. Her eyes with glassy with lust but he could see the confusion easing in. He had half a mind to disregard the interruption and continue what they had started. Hell, he'd have let the intruder watch just to keep the passion in her stare.

They heard the door creak open, and she realised then what was happening. He saw it, and removed his hand from her mouth. He went a little bit closer to her as they listened to a couple of steps enter the room, resting his cheek against her hair.

"Draco?" Narcissa's voice called. "Are you in there?"

At that moment in time, he was pretty certain he hated his own mother. He genuinely considered _Accio-_ing his wand and cursing her, and then maybe himself for not thinking to put a locking spell on the door. He didn't answer, and after a few seconds, they could hear her leave.

Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, and her arms still around his shoulders. He didn't want to pull back, knowing all the lust had left the room alongside his intrusive mother. The trance had been broken for both of them, and trying to pick up where they had left off would just lead to nothing. And a very awkward nothing at that.

In a rare moment of affection that he knew he would regret later, he nuzzled her neck slightly and placed a small peck there. He felt her legs fall from his torso and her arms hesitantly leave his back. He pulled himself away from her, just in time to witness the dejected expression on her features.

She masked it quickly, training her pretty face to look as blank as she possibly could. His eyes narrowed in thought as they simply stared at each other, waiting for one of them to speak. After what felt like six days, she looked down to fix her bra and start refastening the buttons of her shirt.

"Granger," he muttered quickly, wondering just what the hell he'd planned to say. "I think-

"Don't think," she stopped him quickly, finishing the last button. "Just be grateful your mother stopped us from doing something very foolish."

Foolish was definitely the word. Never had a word been more appropriate for a situation. But lust thrives on stupidity, and Merlin curse him, he'd do it all again.

_Except this time I'd put a fucking lock on the door. _

"This is embarrassing," he heard her mumble as she self-consciously pushed some hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean for this to happen-

"I never said you did," he scolded her, fixing her with a stern look. He had no clue how to handle this situation, so he instinctively decided to go for the defensive route. "I certainly didn't plan for this-

"I didn't mean that," she shook her head. "I just meant...I don't know what I mean. I think I should leave."

He didn't even try to stop her, completely agreeing with her this time. He was frustrated as hell and knew he would take the blame out on her. She wasn't panicking this time, and for that he was grateful, if a little annoyed that she seemed so composed. His brain was aching as he tried to make sense, tried to think of something useful to say. Nothing suitable was coming to mind, so he decided it was just best to keep his mouth shut.

She waded away from him to the steps at the end of the pool, and he stifled a moan as he watched her leave the water, her shirt still translucent and doing nothing to calm the throb in his trunks. She bent to pick up her wand, having apparently dropped it when he dragged her into the water.

She muttered a quick drying spell, and within two seconds it was like nothing had happened. He was in the pool, and she was dressed in normal clothes with no trace of water on her skin. His lip twitched when she offered him an unsure smile, before she turned her back to leave.

"Granger," his voice stopped her, and looked over her shoulder at him. "I will come over later to discuss this."

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, and he held his breath.

"Alright," she agreed, hoping he couldn't see her shaking. "I'll see you later."

And then she was gone, leaving him to nurse yet another Granger-induced hard-on.

.

* * *

.

An hour later and Draco was dried and dressed and helping his mother replace some furniture. Ah yes, his mother. This was all her fault, of course. She had asked him to come here today, and if she hadn't done that, he wouldn't have taken a swim in the pool. And then Hermione would have never ended up in the pool, with her bloody translucent shirt, and they wouldn't have kissed.

Kiss certainly felt like the wrong term though. No, it had been a kiss that was leading somewhere; sex to be precise. If it hadn't been for his mother, he'd have probably shagged Granger senseless by now.

It was his mother's fault it had started, and it was her fault it had ended.

He didn't know whether hug her or hex her.

And here she was now, removing her trinkets from a desk without a care in the world, completely oblivious that she had single-handedly destroyed his day. Well, maybe not single-handedly; Mopsy was going to get an ear-bashing about bringing guests to the pool without at least a sodding knock.

"Draco," Narcissa's concerned tone broke his angry thoughts. "Are you okay? You're looking a little possessed over there."

"I'm bloody brilliant." he sneered.

"Clearly not," his mother frowned, fixing him with a serious look. "Does this have anything to with why Hermione was in the pool with you?"

"What?" Draco didn't even have a chance to hide his shock.

"Mopsy told me she took Hermione to see you at the pool," Narcissa explained. "And I know you and her were in there when I knocked. So, what's going on, Draco?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly.

"I may be getting old but I'm not stupid," she chuckled at her son's discomfort. "You know I can always tell when you're lying-

"You're becoming senile, mother," he breathed, refusing to look at her smug expression. "There is nothing-

"Don't lie to me, Draco," she said sternly. "I won't have any more lies in this house, now tell me or I'll ask her myself-

"We kissed," he blurted loudly, turning his back to his mother, missing her knowing grin.

He didn't know how he expected his mother to react but the silence was damning. He was tempted just to leave and save himself the embarrassment, but she finally spoke.

"Just kissed?" she questioned carefully.

"Yes," he snarled through his teeth. Talking about this with his mother was making his head hurt.

"I knew it," she stated proudly, a smirk on her lips. "I knew you liked her-

"Excuse me?" Draco whipped around to face her, eyeing her with impatience. "I most certainly do not like her-

"Oh please," she chuckled, rolling her eyes at her son. "I'm not blind, Draco. You barely left her side at my birthday and you almost hexed Graham when he was talking to her-

"I was looking out for her," he defended. "She was-

"And you haven't been out with any of those awful girls for a few weeks," she continued. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

"So I've taken a break from screwing around," he shrugged, trying his best to look indifferent. "That doesn't mean-

"And if I'm guessing right," she carried on, her smirk widening. "You've kissed her more than once-

"What the-

"And I reckon," she placed a thoughtful finger on her chin. "That it was at my birthday, when you and her disappeared for a while, and then I found you acting much like you are now."

Draco just blinked at his mother. Why was he bothering working so hard on the case when his mother clearly had the best detective skills in London? He had no idea what to say, but that was fine because she wasn't finished.

"So that makes two kisses," she surmised. "Or are there any more?"

"No," he breathed, taking a seat and resting his elbows against his knees. "Just the two."

"So," his mother said slowly, sitting in the chair opposite his. "Why haven't you asked her to dinner or something?"

"Mother-

"No, I'm serious," she interrupted, her expression turning pensive. "Is it her blood?"

"Of course not," Draco snapped,offended by her assumption. He really was indifferent to her heritage now; she had proven her worth as a witch one hundred times over.

"Then what is it?"

"It's that she's Hermione bloody Granger," he remarked, earning him a confused look.

"Yes, I know who she is," Narcissa shrugged. "Pretty girl, very smart, good sense of humour and very pleasant, good at keeping you in line-

"And the girl I bullied all the way through Hogwarts," Draco stopped her with a harsh tone. "The girl who my aunt tortured, and who my father despised. And of course the icing on the cake, best friend to Potter and Weasley-

"Did she kiss you back?" his mother questioned, arching an eyebrow at her son.

"Well," his voice faltered more a moment. "Yes, but-

"Then I'm guessing she's over the way you acted in Hogwarts," she explained with certainty. "And she had no problem returning to the Manor so I'm sure she's over Bellatrix. And in regards to Harry Potter and the Weasley boy, she doesn't strike me as the type to be ruled by her friends' opinions-

"It's not that simple, mother," he argued, feeling much younger than he was at the moment. "It's complicated-

"Only if you make it complicated," she advised.

Draco paused to watch his mother for a moment, hating how sure she seemed of her suggestions. He would have happily given back his inheritance in exchange for some of her confidence. And just when had she become so bloody fond of Granger? His next question was resting on his tongue, but he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to voice it.

"What would father have said?"

"Your father isn't here any more," she reminded him with a sad tone. "But he would have trusted your judgement, even if he wasn't completely happy with the idea."

"Okay," he nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Do I need to tell you to keep this quiet? Especially from Skeeter."

"My lips are sealed," she promised. "I swear I won't tell anyone you like her-

"I never confessed to liking her," he disputed, feeling his anger rise again. "I confessed that I had kissed her-

"Just ask her out," his mother scoffed. "And stop stressing about what happened nearly five years ago-

"I'm not asking her out," he stated calmly. The conversation had reached its peak now, and he refused to give his nosy parent any more details. His mother had always been one one of those awful romantics and he didn't need that right now . He needed some logic, someone to smack him sideways and remind him that there were a million reasons not to pursue Granger.

"And just why not?" his mother asked, scowling at his words.

"Because I chose not to," Draco shrugged, rising from his seat and heading for the door. "As I said, it's too complicated-

"But-

"And I refuse," he continued firmly, shooting her a cold stare. "To discuss it any further."

Narcissa contemplated arguing with him, but she recognised the resolute expression on his face. She sighed in defeat, deciding she would simply bring it up the next time they kissed. And yes, she was certain there would be a next time. She watched him leave and allowed herself another smirk.

_Stubborn youngsters. _

.

* * *

.

Hermione sighed as the warm water trickled over her. After waiting for Draco to come round for a few hours, she'd given up and figured he'd decided against it and she couldn't blame him for that. She'd given it until eleven o'clock to risk having a shower, hoping it would clear her mind.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

The water reminded her of the pool, and the pool reminded her of him. His hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue and, Morgana strike her down, his hardness that had pressed against her. Everything that he had touched and kissed was still tingling and fresh in her mind. That little bubble of heat that had invaded her stomach, created by his treatment, was still niggling at her, waiting to be popped.

Every time she dared to close her eyes, images would flash across her lids. Images of his face close to hers, sucking at her mouth, and then of his tongue flicking over throat. Her hands went up to her neck, remembering the path his mouth taken.

Her fingertips stroked down to her breasts, just as his lips had, and she softly squeezed them. One of her hands trailed down her abdomen, over her navel like his fingers had. She released a shallow breath as she remembered that this was the point when she had thrown her legs around him, and become so blissfully aware of his erection prodding her.

She felt the bubble twitch.

With a reminiscent moan, she tucked her fingers between her legs, gently brushing the familiar and fleshy area. She found the sensitive and small column of her clit and she rubbed it with shaking fingers. But she couldn't concentrate and her actions were clumsy as she tried to recreate the sensations Draco had inflicted. She was nowhere close, and after a few moments she gave up, leaving herself more frustrated.

With a huff of defeat, she turned off the water and slipped into her fluffy bathrobe, drying her hair with her wand. Even without the water encouraging her reflections of the pool, her mind refused to leave them be. She had never felt so sexually unsatisfied in her life, and it was all Malfoy's sodding fault!

She needed to relax and divert her mind. She had the house to herself, having sent Penelope to Leandra's for the night, assuming that Draco was coming over to have long and stressful chat. She grabbed her moisturiser from her bedroom and decided she would stretch out on her couch and distract herself with some of the late-night panel shows she loved.

Flicking through the channels and settling on _Mock the Week, _she snuggled against the cushions of her sofa and started to massage the cream into her skin. She applied it to her shoulders and arms, tipping her head back as she did her chest.

She moved to start on her legs, working her way from her feet to the tops of her thighs. She was just beginning to calm when the startling thunder of the Floo made her jump out of her skin. The green fire subsided as Draco entered her living room.

"For fuck's sake," the blond growled as his eyes settled on her.

That was it. Clearly there was someone conspiring against them. She was there, clad in just a blue bathrobe that stopped at her knees, massaging herself with _fucking _lotion. Something in his head snapped. He couldn't cope with all these coincidences, they were breaking down the barricades of his restraint, no matter how hard he tried to keep them strong.

"Draco," Hermione breathed nervously, shifting to cover as much of her flesh as she could. "What are you-

"I told you I would come round," he reminded her before she could finish. He had no idea where he should stand or sit as she fidgeted anxiously on her sofa, so he just stayed still by her fireplace.

"I know," she rose from the seat, feeling the need to stand. "But it's almost midnight."

"I had things to do," he lied, wondering why she'd chosen to stand. "We need to talk."

"We do," she agreed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "We obviously need to sort out a solution to this."

"Okay," he agreed, trying to ignore that her bathrobe had was parted deliciously at her cleavage. "What do you propose?"

"I think it might be best," she started awkwardly, folding her arms over her stomach. "That one of us give up responsibility for the case."

Draco's eyes widened at her suggestion. That thought had never crossed his mind, and he was rather surprised that she had considered that option. He couldn't imagine not working on the case together when he thought about all the hours they had put into it. No, that wasn't a solution. That was just running away.

"You can't be serious," he snorted, even more annoyed now. "That is such a cop-out, Granger-

"This clearly isn't working," she protested in a small voice. "And we need to sort this out before it starts affecting the case-

"This is bullshit," Draco sneered, taking a step towards her. "You know that we haven't let this effect the case."

"Not yet," she agreed with a cringe. "But I think it will eventually, and I can't allow that to happen-

"I know what you're doing, Granger," he said in a low tone, drawing himself up to his full height. "I know you have more standing at the Ministry than me. Just a quick word to Shacklebolt and I'll be back to monitoring any idiot that slaps a Muggle-born."

"That wasn't what I was suggesting-

"Of course it was," he argued. "You get rid of me, and get some tool to help you with it. Well fuck you, because I've put too much work into this for you to screw me over!"

"I know how much work you've done," she assured him, her eyes pleading him to calm down. "You've been brilliant-

"This has been my first big case," he went on, ignoring her hopeless looks. "And my first chance to prove to the Ministry that I can do more than deal with the mediocre crap. I was working on this before you even came along, Granger!"

"I know-

"And I'll be damned if I let you throw me aside like I've had nothing to do with our progress," he continued, his voice loud and shrill now. "And you have no right to take me off the case just because you can't handle a little-

"Stop," she barked, and he actually halted his rant when he heard the desperation in her voice. "I never had any intention of removing you from the case."

"What?" he eyed her warily.

"I have seen how much work you've done on this," she explained, her voice trembling a little. "And I never considered asking for you to be taken off the case."

"But then," Draco faltered as realisation set into his brain. "That would mean you?"

"Yes," she sighed, looking away from him. "I'll ask to be removed from the case."

Draco absorbed her offer and became even more irritated. She couldn't be serious. He had seen first-hand how much effort she had given to their case. How could she be so willing to give all that up just to get away from him? No, it wasn't a possibility. She was the brightest person he knew, and if anyone could figure out these murders, it was them. He wouldn't allow it any other way.

"No," he stated simply. "Absolutely not."

"I thought you would be okay with it," she told him, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "I thought-

"Well you thought wrong," he grunted, daring another stride towards her. "Neither of us are giving up the case, Granger, so you'll just have to think of something else."

"But I thought," she whispered softly, eyeing him with confusion. "I thought that you would like that option?"

"Well I don't," he scowled. "I think it's pretty obvious that I don't."

"But, why?"

"Because it's just stupid, Granger," he growled, trying to figure out how he could tell her not to leave without looking like an idiot. "Don't you give a shit about all the work you've done?"

"Yes," she nodded hesitantly. "But I would trust you to use my work effectively-

"No," he reiterated, tensing his jaw and deciding he would need to persuade her a little better. "You know as well as I do that we are the best people for this, and I refuse to be stuck with some second-hand moron as a replacement. You absence would affect the case more, and you know it."

Hermione frowned and rubbed her face with one of her hands. He knew by the softening of her features that he had won. _There_ was another reason he didn't want her to leave, he had spent weeks, no months, learning what each small movement of her face meant. He liked that he could read her so well, and he liked that that he knew how she worked. Perhaps his mother had been right; maybe he just liked her. Full stop.

He watched as determination stole her eyes, and once again, he found another thing he liked. Just when he thought he had figured out her reactions and features, she would prove him wrong. She was unpredictable in a uniquely charming way that made him think. Damn her.

"Well then what are we supposed to do?" she asked him slowly, feeling her frustration growing.

Everything he did made her head feel a little light and airy, and it was irritating her to hell. She was fighting not to look at his lips and his fingertips. She was trying not to consider how easily he could make her burn on the inside, specifically in the space between her hips. She also buried the realisations that she enjoyed his company and that she basked in his presence. It was hard to ignore the notion that it wasn't just lust that she felt flourishing in her stomach, but she tried anyway.

"Well your suggestion is ridiculous," he hold her boldly. "I can't believe you would even think of it."

"Well, I don't know what else we can do, Draco," she raised her voice, allowing her frustration to take control. "I have no bloody clue what else I can say!"

"Calm yourself, Granger!" he shouted back, refusing to back down. "We will think of something else-

"There is nothing else!" she yelled, throwing her arms in anger.

His lips twitched as he watched her become flustered and agitated, apparently completely oblivious that her actions were causing her robe to ride up. He swallowed as she started to breath a bit heavier, and in an instant he was turned on. His fingers itched to touch her but he held his ground as her expression turned desperate and creased with panic.

"I can't do this any more," she whispered, shaking her head as the words spilled out of her mouth before she could catch them. "I just...I can't-

"Can't what, Granger?" he pushed her, inhaling as he took another step forwards. Just two more and he'd be able to reach her.

"I can't," she continued, nervously hugging her arms tighter around herself. She paused before she spoke again but eventually she decided that the words needed to be said. "I can't pretend I'm not attracted to you. Perhaps more than attracted."

He felt something in his torso clench and his lips parted a little. Another step.

"You're messing with my head," she confessed, her eyes focussed somewhere around his chest. "And I can't deal with it any more."

Another step. He could reach her now if he stretched his arm.

"I just can't," she went on, glancing up at his eyes now and looking rather frightened. She took a deep breath before she finished her sentence, knowing with every ounce of sense that she shouldn't say the words. "I don't think I can stop myself."

The final step.

And with only a second's hesitation so she could gasp, he grabbed her face and kissed her. Her hands quickly rushed up to latch around his neck as she opened her lips for him. Blissful little whimpers filtered into his mouth and shivered up his tongue as her fingernails dragged faintly over the sensitive skin by his ears.

His hands moved to her sides to bring her closer to his chest, one dipping to snake around her back before the other dived into her freshly-washed hair. His nips and pecks and sucks were quick and heavy, knowing all too well that they were usually interrupted at this point.

But his mother wasn't here, and there were no meddlesome house-elves, and as far he could see, Clearwater was out. Above anything else, she had just admitted that she wanted him, so surely she wouldn't stop them this time. He needed to know.

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, slowly opening his eyes to find hers wide and laced with lust. He dragged his hand slowly from her back to her front and settled his fingers against the knot of the bathrobe's tie. He quickly scanned her features for any signs of doubt or panic, but he saw none.

With skilled movements, he undid the knot, still watching her closely for any indication that she wanted him to stop.

Nothing.

The bathrobe naturally parted a little and he glanced down at her breasts where her nipples were already firm for him. When he looked back up, a small smirk was tugging at the corner of her mouth and he felt the ache for her searing just above his groin.

With a husky growl, he went back to sucking at her lips, inhaling into her mouth when her nails raked through his hair. His hands pushed inside her robe, delicately giving her barely-there touches up her stomach and over her chest to rest on her shoulders.

With a fast but definite nudge, he brushed her robe off her body and heard it slide down her shape, before it landed behind her feet with a small thud.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Sorry, another cliffy...Once again, more wine has led to an early chapter. But at least this time it's 4 AM, so hopefully my sleeping pattern isn't completely buggered. Saying that, I have to be up at bloody seven for a trip to Cardiff...Joy! Thank you so much for your reviews for the last chapter...I mean really...wow...26 reviews in less than 24 hours was just such a compliment and I adore reading them.

I've been getting these chapters out quickly because I have a few things coming up, so the gaps between chapters may be a bit longer after this one...Sorry!

Hope you liked that chapter because I really enjoyed writing the kiss scenes. And yes there will be sex in the next chapter. It's M for a reason. Let me know what you think!

Bex-chan


	17. Bare

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 17: Bare.

.

She was naked.

She was naked, and Draco Malfoy was kissing her collarbone. And it felt bloody sinful.

Draco was vaguely aware that she tasted like blueberry soap.

He was kissing a thick ribbon of skin between her throat and her shoulder, and she tilted her head back slightly, pressing herself a little closer to his chest. She opened her eyes just to wandlessly turn the television to mute, deciding that the fluctuating colours and lights in the otherwise dark room were rousing wonderful shadows, and animating their bodies.

She could feel Draco's nips at her skin becoming heavier and hectic, and his hands were clutching her back, his fingertips pressing into her spine. Her hands raked thin tracks through his hair as his lips grazed lower down her chest and she took a deep breath, forcing his mouth harder against her skin. She leaned back so he could trace lazy patterns with his tongue between her breasts, her eyelids fluttering as her concentration failed.

The November air barely registered against her naked skin as her blood raced to heat her, clouding her brain with misty attempts of awareness. She leaned back into him as he raised his head to steal a very fast and frantic kiss, and she carelessly bit at his lips with urgent breaths fluttering between them.

His clothes were scratching against her skin, creating a frustrating friction. She was about to claw at his shirt with every intention of nibbling at his chest until it bruised, but his mouth went to suckle at her neck again. His hand went between them, his palm flat against her stomach and pushing her back. Her leg wrapped around his calf to steady herself, a pathetic whimper pushing past her lips when she brushed against the hard line behind his trousers.

She was aware of her nudity now, not nervous with vulnerability but agitated that selfish clothes were separating her from him.

His hand was still going lower and he shifted her so he could finally meander his fingers between her thighs and stroke her clit with a frenzied tenderness that possibly only Draco could manage. She felt herself swell quickly, still sensitive from her own fondles in the shower.

Her lusty bubble returned.

His hand was braced tightly enough around her back that she could arch into his touch with a choked sigh. The kisses and sucks at her chest were getting more feral as his thumb rubbed up and down her fleshy bead, and she basked in it. She could feel two of his fingers circling the ridge of her entrance, and she offered a small but eager buck.

His thumb was still stroking her while his fingers slipped between her wet walls, angled upwards to tap rhythmically against _that_ spot. A guttural noise vibrated in her mouth when his teeth scraped her abdomen, and she adjusted herself so that his fingers were tucked tighter against her sex.

She could feel the ache behind her naval pulsing in anticipation but she needed to calm herself. She had no intention of letting him take her post-bliss when her muscles were weary and her mind distracted. She needed to feel him within her to snap those strings that had been tightening since...fuck if she knew when.

She pulled herself up with a reluctant and shaky moan and hungrily sought his mouth. She frantically pushed his hand away, scared she would come undone before she could feel him.

Draco ignored the stab of panic that clutched his chest as she removed his hand, but relaxed when she kissed him with a desire-blind pace that made him groan. Her hands attacked the buttons of his shirt with hasty fingers, her nails catching his skin with delicious scratches as she pushed it off his arms.

His fists gripped her hair as her determined hands went to the zip of his trousers, grabbing the high hem of his boxers as she shoved them both down off his hips. His erection prodded against her stomach, craving her attention, and her keen fingers softly brushed the tip. She felt it twitch against her palm and she circled her thumb and middle finger around him, gliding them down and up the inches.

She dragged her tongue from his mouth down to his chin and then along his jaw to chew at his earlobe. His grip on her bundles of hair tightened when the craving heat seared near his loins. He tried to catch his throaty moan but it was pointless; her delicate hands felt like warm velvet, and her tongue by his ear felt like damp silk.

_Imagine what she feels like inside._

That thought caused him to growl and he grasped her shoulders, stepping out of his trousers as he spun her round. He pushed her against the couch, uncaring if it was a little rough. The flickering lights of the Muggle box were casting teal stains on her skin, and he paused for a second as she sat herself down, staring with lust-confident eyes straight at him.

Her unstable breathing was causing her breasts to dance in a ridiculously alluring manner, and her plump lips were open, waiting for him to speckle them with more furious kisses. He knelt next her on the couch, his back straight as he gathered her body against him. Her legs quickly straddled his thighs, and she rocked against him, rubbing her throbbing heat against his length a few times before Draco gripped her waist, desperate to just be inside her now. Placing his palm flat against her abdomen, he hurriedly rasped out a contraceptive spell, hoping his muttering of the incantation was accurate.

She tugged at his face to suck his bottom lip, reaching down to lead him into her with needy haste. His erection slid slowly into her and he hissed his breath between his teeth as her muscles adjusted around his length, clenching him. A dreamy moan left her mouth, and he pulled at her waist, guiding her to ride him, slowly at first, but then quicker once he was snug and her walls were pinching and squeezing his length with euphoric pressure.

He knew this wouldn't take long; the tension had been there for weeks and their fumbles in the pool earlier had left his body yearning for this. And she was not disappointing him. She felt like liquid-perfection.

She stretched her back and lolled her head, bracing her hands against his shoulders to manage her thrusts. Unable to reach her lips, Draco nuzzled the creamy skin under her ear, occasionally nibbling and tonguing the area between his laboured breaths and husky sounds.

His hands wound around her back, finding her pace sublime as she sang consistent passion-moans. Her rhythm was quickening and he rested his forehead against her chest to try and pause his bud of ecstasy, that was threatening to burst any second. She was getting tighter as her grinding got faster, and he brought one of his hands back round between them to massage her clit.

She shuddered as the new sensations poured into the hot bubble inside of her, and a passion-laced cry mingled with his grunts and moans. He angled his hips higher to push deeper, knowing his orgasm was only a few strokes away.

The bubble finally burst.

A stuttering scream echoed in her living room and her back tensed before she was trembling with no grace. His arms tightened around her as the spasms in her depth convulsed around his length, her fingernails slicing into his skin as she tried to clam the fluttering jerks of her body. He paused his stabs and continued to caress her clit with his thumb, prolonging her loud bliss. He waited for her to go limp against his chest before he continued his fast thrusts, relishing the quaking waves that rippled against his stem.

She was clinging to him firmly but he pulled her back, one hand reaching up to clumsily brush away the hair that clung to her sweat-wet forehead. His mouth latched onto hers just as the pulsating knot of pressure tore open and burst into her with salty lust. His deep yell broke the kiss and she held him to her chest as he shook against her.

Stunning flashes of red and white waltzed on his eyelids as the climax reached its peak before he was struggling through his pants. Having gathered some strength and sanity, Hermione dotted feather-kisses on his lips and jaw as he tried to grasp reality at the fringes of his rapture.

She leaned back against the cushions, bringing him with her to lie down on her sofa. She grabbed a throw and covered them as his head still leaned against her chest, watching his face with a fascinated stare as he blinked back the vacant haze in his eyes. With shuddering arms, he managed to settle himself at her side and he pulled her back against his chest, burrowing his face by her hair.

Hermione allowed a content grin on her battered lips before the gravity of what had just happened invaded her skull. Her eyes darted around for a second and she tried to calm her panic, oblivious that Draco could feel her slight fidget, and an agitated but tired sigh tickled the space between her shoulder-blades.

"Don't even think about it," he warned her with a croaky voice. "Worry about it in the morning."

A feminine noise somewhere between a chuckle and a whine was his only response so he allowed himself to fall into a very satisfied sleep. She hesitantly placed her hand on top of his, absently stroking his wrist, before she did the same.

.

* * *

.

Hermione woke to the splattering of rain against her window, an airy hum leaving her tender lips. She blinked back her satisfying sleep, and a glance at the clock told her it was almost eight in the morning. Her eyes widened a fraction when she felt Draco's steady breaths at the top of her spine. She could remember everything perfectly, and her intrusive subconscious had insisted on reminding her of every detail with tasty dreams.

No, she hadn't forgotten what had happened. How could she when her pores were still buzzing in his aftermath? She was simply surprised that he was still here, his arm resting flimsily over her ribs.

She could feel the concern and panic clouding her brain. How could she have been so foolish? She had fallen like easy lead for his words and touch, just like the many girls before her, and she felt humiliated.

_Brightest witch of our age? Clearly not when there's a stunning Slytherin between your thighs. _

She could not believe the depth of her stupidity. Of course she had trembled in his arms; the man was a champion charmer, something the magazines always seemed pleased to report. It was no secret; Draco was a bold bachelor who was infamous for the notches on his bedpost.

And now she was one of them.

A notch.

She closed her eyes to fight back the mortified tears and gently eased herself off the couch, adjusting the throw so he wouldn't notice the cold room. She grabbed her discarded bathrobe and wrapped it around her, allowing her eyes to go blurry with silent sobs. She pushed her hair out of her face and walked on wobbly legs away from him, breathing quickly to match her chaotic thoughts.

She needed to get out of her house; it smelled like him. Like sex. It was driving her to hysteria and she needed to escape. She sprinted up to her shower, trying hard to ignore the water thudding against her still tingling skin. She eyed the little bruises and blemishes on her skin, all from his teeth and touches like territorial brands.

When the lusty scents had disappeared, she tumbled into her room and dried herself with her wand, throwing on some clean underwear and her grey button-up dress. She realised then that she would have to go back into the living room to use the Floo, and she cringed.

She figured she could quietly make it back into the room and only the roar of the Floo would wake him, but by then she would be gone. She decided to go to the Ministry and isolate herself in their office, hoping work would distract her and knowing the department would be quiet. She tiptoed back down the stairs and slipped soundlessly into the room, refusing to look at him on the couch.

She would have to pass him, so she held her breath, eyeing only her fireplace with tenacious eyes.

"Granger," his gruff voice made her jump, but she still didn't dare look at him. "Where exactly are you going?"

Her chest was thundering and she tried to calm her confused breaths, refusing to stop her unbalanced legs as she headed for her fireplace.

"Work," her voice quivered. "I need to-

"It's Sunday," he remarked impatiently, sitting up on her sofa although she didn't see it. "What the fuck are you-

"I need to get out of here," she whispered, grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

She didn't hesitate, and she disappeared with the flare of green flames. Draco growled into the empty room, tempted to pursue her but deciding that darting around the Ministry bare-arsed wouldn't look too great, even if the Ministry was quiet.

Figuring he was entitled to use her bathroom since she had left him alone and naked in her house, he helped himself to a shower. He relaxed his agitated thoughts, rationalising that he had expected her to be flustered this morning and questioning what they had done. Of course she would; she was Hermione Granger. Plus, it was kind of difficult to be completely angry at her after she had been so splendid.

He could still feel a slight simmering in his stomach.

As the water trickled down his back, he concluded that that he would give her a while to gather her thoughts before he found her. It would be difficult, but he would have to restrain his temper if he had any chance of making her see sense. If he burst in, screaming obscenities about her cowardice, she would get all defensive and possibly end up cursing him.

So he took his time, casting Scouring Charms on his clothes and even helping himself to glass of milk before he went after her. He calmly walked his way the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and was surprised when he found her in his office, sitting in his chair with her face in her palms and a mess of parchments spread out around her.

Her eyes snapped up as he closed the door behind him and she shot up from his seat as he neared her. Her nervous stare flickered over his chest as he marched intently into the room and took the seat opposite her, reminding himself to be smooth and tactful. But it was pointless; he could already feel the fractures splitting into his patience.

Her chest was close to exploding as she watched him, flashing images of last night tearing at the brink of her conscious. She could see small tell-tale marks on his neck from her brazen actions and she licked her lips. He looked so inviting and it was crushing her resolve to remember that he had mostly likely bedded her in the same fashion he had with other mindless girls.

"Draco," she exhaled, sounding like it pained her to mention his name. "I-

"Sit down," he told her, and she dumbly complied. "Care to explain why the hell you ran away so quickly this-

"I panicked," she admitted with a frown, staring at the desk. "I needed to get out-

"I could see that," he remarked, sighing before he continued. "I thought I gave you plenty of opportunities to back out last night-

"You did."

"So then why did you run off?" he pushed, sensing his temper rising and trying to quash it.

"I told you," she mumbled. "I panicked-

"But why?" his voice snapped.

"I don't know," she lied, feeling more vulnerable now than when she had been completely bare last night.

"Bullshit," he growled. Screw it, he felt bloody offended by her embarrassment. "Give me a decent answer."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked him, her voice slowly climbing louder.

"I want your honesty," he snarled, as though it was obvious. "Why the fuck did you leave?"

"I don't know!" she repeated, rising from her seat again. "I just want-

"That's just your problem, Granger," he told her. "You have no idea what you want. Your entire life has been dictated following the needs of others and it pisses me off! You even chose you career on the wish of a dead woman-

"Don't you _dare_ talk about her like that-

"It's true though!" he yelled, also standing up. "You're so eager to please everyone-

"Whereas you just don't give a shit about anyone!" she retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I don't know what I want? You bed-hop like your life depends on it and you say I don't know what I want?"

Her words confused him for a second and he narrowed his eyes at her. What exactly was she getting at?

"What are you-

"You may have some connections to Skeeter," she went on. "But there are other magazines you know. It's no secret that you've bedded half of London, Draco! I just left before you did!"

That was why she was so flustered? He had assumed she had regretted last night because of their hostile history. He hadn't expected that from her, but then he knew better than to predict her thoughts. So, she thought he had seduced her for his amusement? A one night stand? A little part of him wished it was that simple. But no, his intentions were anticipating more than just one night.

"That's what you're concerned about?" Draco confirmed with an arched brow. "That I just wanted sex?"

"Yes," she nodded, her tone a little softer but still angry.

"Do you realise how bloody stupid that is?" he scowled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "You honestly thought that I would just shag you and disregard all the problems it would cause in work? If I had just wanted a quick fuck, Granger, I would have gone elsewhere!"

Hermione blinked away her shock and ignored the temptation to bend closer and kiss him. He really was so numbingly gorgeous. The relief was consuming her and she fought the soft smile that threatened to grace her features. She couldn't quite risk getting her hopes up just yet.

"So," she breathed, her voice uncertain and jittery. "What exactly are you telling me?"

"You're making this very difficult," he accused, folding his arms arrogantly over his chest. "I think I've made it clear it quite clear-

"No you haven't," she countered, shaking her head. "If you had, I wouldn't have left-

"You left because you jumped to conclusions," he argued, moving from his place to walk around the desk. He noticed then that she was wearing the grey dress that had tormented him for weeks. The one with those sodding buttons.

"I told you I was attracted to you," Hermione reminded him with a faint blush. "More than attracted actually, and you gave no indication-

"I think that last night," Draco stopped her, smirking as he closed the distance between them "Was a very obvious indication-

"Stop that," she whispered, placing a hand against his chest to halt him where he was. "Your riddles are trying my patience, Draco. What exactly is it you want?"

He paused for a moment, his smirk fading as he took in her hopeful features, noting the possessive scrapes and smudges he'd left on her throat and chest, knowing there were more under her dress. What did he actually want from her? Sole claim? Companionship? The luxuries of her presence and passion?

A relationship was the easiest answer to come to, but he instinctively ignored it. No, he wouldn't push that concept away into the far reaches of his mind. He pulled it back, deciding that it was the only name for what he wanted from her, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to admit or say it.

"More," he stated finally, leaning into her, but she pushed him away. "What?"

"You know this will be complicated," she informed him, swallowing back a lump in her throat. He could tell she was dying to reach out to him and indulge in her own little kisses. "And I think we should talk about it properly-

"I expected no less from you, Hermione," he muttered, his smirk returning. "But we can discuss them at dinner tonight-

"Dinner?" she repeated, fixing him with a quizzical glare. He dipped his head a little closer to her face, planting a barely-there kiss on her cheek.

"Come to dinner with me," he rephrased his request, nipping at her jawbone. "And you can draw up a contract then."

"Alright," she agreed hesitantly, ignoring his sarcastic dig and accepting his little pecks with a hidden smile. "But I have one condition."

"Of course," he chuckled, making his kisses a little more deliberate and wrapping an arm around her torso. "Go on."

"I get to choose the place," she sighed, resting her hands against his biceps. "I don't think it's a good idea to go somewhere we could be recognised."

"Agreed," he mumbled against her neck, pushing her a little so she was perched on his desk.

He pulled away from her and offered her a cocky grin that made her breath tumble out of her mouth. She watched him closely as he slowly withdrew his wand from his pocket, her eyes confused as she eyed his graceful actions. With a faint flick of his wrist, she felt and watched all the buttons on her dress fly away from her, and released a loud gasp.

"Draco," she stuttered, her voice wavering as his hips nestled between her knees. "One of the first things I was going to say was that this can't affect our work-

"It's a Sunday," he smirked at her, working the buttons of his shirt.

_So it is..._

She sought his lips with a swift tug at his neck and allowed the reminiscent images of last night to pour into her brain. She moaned like a wounded nymph as his hands traced the similar, and still aching paths on her skin. She raised herself so he could inch off her underwear as quick as he could, while she practically tore away his trousers.

She ran her hands over his chest, his shirt still draped over his arms while her dress lingered on her shoulders, framing her form. He bent down, running his tongue from her navel down to her pelvis before finding her warmth. He loved that her clit was still swollen from their sex and he swept his mouth over it, firmly tapping his tongue against the spot.

He felt her twitch so reached up to spread his arm across her hips, holding her steady. Two of his fingers pushed into her and he noticed she was tighter, her internal muscles exquisitely inflamed from his previous probe of her. He felt her jerk under his arm as his fingers brushed against the rim of her core. He adored this, learning her most sensitive fragments of her body.

He removed his arm from her waist to stroke his rigid stretch, reminding himself that it wasn't necessary to cast another contraceptive charm as it lasted twenty-four hours. Her rich whimpers pleased his ears, and the familiar bow of mounting fervour yanked at his insides. When he heard a particularly dulcet sound leave her mouth, he rose hastily to his feet, pulling her closer to the edge of the his desk to slot into her.

His hands slipped past the material dress so he could clutch her waist as she held his face, licking his lips and teeth as he bucked within her. He sucked on her tongue as he got faster, and he pushed her away so her back was flat against the surface so he could tease her clit again. His other hand stroked random and lazy patterns across her abdomen as his pants became louder and deeper.

His skilful fingers against her passion-bud worked faster, needing to feel her excited spasms and flexes around his length again. They had felt euphoric last night, and he craved to take her there again. He could hear her breathing becoming wilder as she writhed uninhibitedly against him, her pelvic bones smashing against his hips and thighs.

He could feel the tell-tale clenching of her slick hole before she finally released a bold and musical whine accompanied the quivering of her insides, beating gratefully around him. He gathered her weak shape against him as he allowed the sensations to release the ball of tension, muffling his strangled yelp into her brunette curls. They both shivered as the bliss subsided, gripping at each other to ride out the lusty aftershocks.

He clutched her against him as they both tried to control their post-rapture breaths, his fingers tickling her back with absent circles. He smirked against her shoulder as he realised that his desk would now rouse this memory every time he entered his office. He was suddenly very fond of the inanimate object.

.

* * *

.

They had stayed in his office for a while after that, leaning against each other until she had reluctantly pulled away, insisting that she was rather hungry. He had suggested they go to their respective homes, saving their discussion for their meal at her selected restaurant. All she had told him was that he should wear clothes that resembled Muggle attire. He had settled on a back polo neck and trousers with a smart jacket.

When he Flooed to her home at eight in the evening, she was ready in an emerald dress, her face fresh with light make-up as she relaxed on her couch. _Their _couch actually, and he found another lifeless object that would amuse him. Her cat was at her side, eyeing him with distrust as he stepped out of her fireplace.

"A green dress?" Draco commented as he eyed her simple yet elegant frock. "Are you trying to tell me something, Granger?"

"No, I just like this dress," she shrugged, standing to collect her mauve coat from the back of her armchair. "You're early."

"I don't like waiting," he remarked, liking that she had left her hair down around her shoulders. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"A Muggle restaurant-

"I figured as much," he frowned at her, gesturing to his black clothing. "Care to be a bit more specific?"

"_Bella Italia,_" she offered, slipping her wand into her bag. "It's on Shaftesbury Avenue and the food is amazing."

"Alright," he nodded, deciding that Italian food certainly sounded like an appetising option. "Sounds promising."

"You'll like it," she assured him with a witty smile. "You told me you like risotto and they do it really good."

"I'll judge that for myself," he muttered, watching her openly as she double-checked she had everything.

"How do you want to get there?" she asked, stepping nearer to him. "It's too busy to Apparate and I don't know any Floo connections that would be closer. So, we can either walk or I can order a taxi."

"How far is it?"

"Just a few streets away," she answered, feeling slightly nervous now she was close. She was going on a date with Draco Malfoy, and somewhere several miles below her feet, Satan was being coached by Jane Torvill. She felt her blood gather in her cheeks and she nibbled on her lower lip before she continued. "But...but if you want to walk that's fine...whatever suits you-

He leaned in to plant a silencing kiss over her lips, the words dying in his mouth rather than hers. It amused him that she was nervous, considering they had already slept together twice. He'd always suspected that Gryffindor courage was exaggerated, and her timid actions were proving it.

"Relax, Granger," he muttered as he pulled away, a smug expression on his handsome face. "I've already seen you naked."

She faked her offence and slapped his shoulder playfully, but hard enough to make him flinch. She gave Crookshanks another thoughtful pet before she led them out of her house. Hermione tried to memorise the things she had wanted to say to him, but it was rather difficult concentrate between her anxiety and his proximity. With uncertain movements and insecure thoughts, she linked her arm around his, just to test his reaction.

He turned his head to leave a quick peck in her hair and she relaxed. After weeks of suffering the sexual tension and her secret desires just to touch him, she could finally cave into her wants, and it was a massive relief.

If tonight went well, then she could only assume that it meant her and Draco were involved. Romantically.

Her stomach fluttered.

She felt like she was breaking a list of unspecified rules and it was exhilarating, almost enough to numb her concerns about the implications of their almost-relationship. Almost. She was still Hermione Granger; it was her prerogative to worry and analyse things, especially when they involved a certain blond Slytherin.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Hope that was okay. It's becoming increasingly difficult to write unique lemons without repeating things and succumbing to clichés. Next chapter... the date, and some more on the killer. I know the case has been neglected in the previous couple of chapters, but Draco and Hermione required some chapters for themselves.

To answer a few questions, no I don't have a Beta...I didn't update on fanfiction for about a year, and when I returned they had created this Beta system which I don't really understand. If anyone could explain it to me or offer any suggestions, that would be delightful. And even though I said I would be a little slower with the updates, they should still be coming around once a week.

Also, if anyone has any ideas about how to make my summary more...well...good, I would be interested. Oh, and Bella Italia is a real restaurant and I recommend it next time you're in London because it's bloody amazing.

So...yes, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lend me your thoughts. Thanks for reading! And yes, more wine was involved in the making of this chapter.

Bex-chan


	18. Whiskey

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 18: Whiskey.

.

"Granger," Draco leaned over the table to get a bit closer to her. "Do Muggles drink Firewhiskey?"

"No," she couldn't resist her small laugh, pleased she had remembered to cast a silencing charm after they'd been seated. "But _Famous Grouse_ is similar. Sorry, I know this is a bit out of your comfort zone."

"It is," he agreed, scanning his menu. "But at least there's none of _The Prophet_'s photographers swarming around."

"And I should warn you that Muggle cooking methods are a bit slow," she admitted, and he frowned a little. "But trust me; it's worth the wait."

"Alright," he said slowly, glancing over to another table who had already had their food.

They were interrupted by a waiter who scribbled down their order, Draco asking for the chicken and mushroom risotto, and Hermione requesting the Alfredo pasta. When the waiter brought them their drinks, Draco took a tentative sip of his whiskey and was surprised to find it rather tasty, burning his throat in a delicious manner, just like Firewhiskey.

"Shall I get straight to the point?" Hermione questioned, anxiously stroking her glass of wine.

"By all means," he shrugged, leaning back in his chair to regard her closely. "State your terms."

"Are you planning on making fun of me all night?" she asked, grinning a little in spite of herself.

"Just until it gets dull," he smirked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I'm serious, Draco," she insisted, chewing on her bottom lip. "This is hard enough without you-

"Fine," he rolled his eyes, resting his elbows against the table. "I'm listening, Granger."

"Thank you," she breathed, pausing to take a sip of her Merlot. "The most important thing is that we can't let anything disrupt our work."

"Of course," he agreed, resisting the urge to point out that was obvious.

"Which means," she carried on, her cheeks turning a little rosy. "No more shagging in the office."

Draco considered her with a small smirk but managed to keep his face reasonably tame. A part him was dying to release the grunt of laughter in his throat, but he could see her point, and she was apparently in one of her humourless moods.

"Okay," he said slowly, sweeping his eyes down her chest before returning to her soft stare. "In that case, you can't wear your grey dress to work any more."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said. "Don't wear that dress to work again."

"Why exactly?" she inquired, her lips twitching into an almost-smile.

"Because," he answered in a deliberate drawl, pleased she was relaxing a little. "It will remind me, and I may be tempted to act on it."

"I see," she exhaled, glancing away from him and feeling secretly flattered. "Well then perhaps you should consider getting rid of your desk-

"Absolutely not," he scoffed, as though the prospect was ridiculous. "I happen to like that desk-

"Well I like my dress-

"So do I," he interrupted, giving her a sly look. "And clearly that could lead to problems."

"You're distracting me from my point," she frowned at him, smothering the urge to smile. "Fine, I won't wear that dress to work any more-

"Then I'm sure we'll be fine," he assured, eyeing her sceptical look. "Come now, Granger, you know we will be professional. I know how important this case is-

"I know you do," she sighed, running her hands over her green dress. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Understood," he nodded, taking another sip of the Muggle whiskey. "No fucking on the desk-

"Draco-

"What's your next concern?" he pushed, ignoring her warning tone.

"Well," she started awkwardly, wringing her napkin in her hands. "I think it would be best we keep this quiet for a while-

"Embarrassed to be seen with me, Granger?" he accused coldly.

"No," she replied quickly, her face turning sad for a moment. "No, I just want to be the one who tells Harry and Ron if this turns serious."

"Ah, yes," Draco breathed, his tone dry. "Potter and Weasley."

"I just don't want them finding out via the paper," she elaborated. "If this turns serious, I want it to come from me."

"You're still not certain that I'm being honest," he commented, raising a pale eyebrow.

"You're a difficult person to read," she explained carefully. "I'm just wondering if you've thought about this properly-

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't thought about it properly," he told her with a perfect deadpan voice.

"Sorry," she apologised, reaching over to hesitantly stroke her index finger over his knuckles. "This is a little odd. I never even thought that we could be civil, let alone...this."

He stayed silent, watching her finger trace vacant patterns against his hand. A little stab of affection, that he would normally find disturbing, caught his attention. With a resigned sigh, he moved his hand so he could lightly squeeze hers, and glanced up at her face. Odd was definitely the right word, but he didn't feel uneasy about the prospect. Actually, it felt quite calming, and almost comforting to have finally dealt with the tension that had flourished between them.

"We're going to argue a lot, you know," she offered him a weak smile, breaking his thoughts. "I guess I quite like that though."

Draco remained silent, secretly agreeing with her. That was possibly his favourite thing about her, that she could keep up with his quick wit and intellect. He enjoyed a good verbal spar, and he had no doubt that Potter and Weasley were lacking in that area.

"And you know," she continued, nervously nibbling on the inside of her mouth. "That I have a tendency of jumping to the wrong conclusion."

He frowned at her warnings, wondering why she suddenly found it necessary to list her flaws, even if it was curiously endearing.

"And," she sighed, carrying on with her confessional rant. "I always have to be right-

"Are you done?" Draco stopped her with an amused face before he offered a reassuring clench of her hand. "I know all this about you, Granger. We have been working together for two months. I'm still here, aren't I?"

She smiled at him then, and he saw what he had been looking for. She believed him, perhaps even trusted him, and it was a relief; he had no intention of spending their dinner with her doubting everything he said.

"I will not tell you again, Granger," he scolded her, but his voice was vaguely warm. "I want you, and not just for sex."

She knew he had meant the last part to be a joke, but she'd barely heard it. Her brain had focussed on the _I want you_ part that had made her stomach flip. Her lips stretched wider, and she quickly leaned across the table to leave a lingering kiss on his lips. When she pulled away and settled back in her chair, he was wearing a smug smirk that made her feel something between giddy and shy.

"I take you're satisfied with my...intentions now?" he questioned, his voice smooth and confident. He had reached the limit on his attempts at being calm and decent, so if she wasn't convinced with that then there wasn't much else he was willing to say.

"Very," she confessed, stroking his hand again and he relaxed a little. Maybe his pride wasn't completely shattered. Yet. "So you're okay with keeping this quiet for a while?"

"Okay," he agreed after a slight pause. "Although I think Potter and Weasley will hex me whether they read about it or you tell them anyway."

"Probably," she nodded, too pleased with his _I want you _statement to frown.

"Is that the end of your list?" he questioned. "Or are you going to tell me that I need to make nice with Wonder-boy and his ginger sidekick?"

"I know that's not likely," she said with a gentle frown. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't call them names."

"I'm making no promises," he drawled, meaning he would definitely _not _refrain from his snide comments on the pair. "So you have no more terms?"

"I've forgotten what they were," she breathed with a slight flush. She was about to continue when the waiter brought them their food, and her eyes danced with amusement as Draco quickly started digging into his risotto.

"Not bad," he remarked after a few mouthfuls. "I guess I'll just have to get used to the waiting period if we're going to be dining in Muggle restaurants for a while."

"I'm sure there are a couple of Wizard places we could go to," she offered, twirling her fork in her pasta. "Skeeter can't have her cronies everywhere."

"I think I should warn you that my mother may know," he told her with a serious expression.

"You told her?"

"Actually, she guessed," he rolled his eyes, recalling the conversation with his mother. "She doesn't know everything, she just thinks something is going on."

"How did she-

"She _was _a Slytherin, Granger," he reminded her with a proud glance. "She may be harmless but she knows how to sneak around and get information."

"Will she tell Skeeter?" Hermione questioned, not as concerned as she thought she would be.

"No," he answered confidently. "I told her not to, so she won't."

"Alright," she nodded, content with his answer. "Nobody else knows?"

"Do I look like the type of person who gossips?" he asked her with an arrogant grin. "Have you told anyone?"

"No one to tell," she shook her head. "All of my friends kind of-

"Hate me," he finished, noting her cringe. He wasn't sure why she flinched; it wasn't like the whole of Britain was oblivious to the hostile past between him and her friends, but he'd learned to become indifferent to it.

"I'm sure you can charm them when the time comes," she breathed hopefully. "Before I forget, I'm going to visit Dennis Creevey's flatmate tomorrow so I'll be a late to work. I should be there around eleven."

"I don't suppose Potter's had any luck?" Draco inquired. "You know, watching the list of suspects I gave you?"

"Terry should be owling you any information first thing tomorrow," she explained, her studious expression gracing her face. "But I'm sure if they'd found anything decent, they would have let me know straight away."

"You're frustrated with the case," he pointed out, tilting his head to regard her.

"Aren't you?" she grimaced, finishing her food and resting her chin against her palm.

"A little," he admitted after a thoughtful silence. "I'm pretty sure I'm missing something obvious."

"It's normal to have that feeling," she suggested, reaching over to rub his palm again, deciding that she liked how his hands were a little rough and masculine.

"No," he breathed, relaxing as her fingernails grazed small circles by his lifeline. "There's something there that I can't put my finger on. Something clicked in my head but I don't know what it was."

"It will come to you," she assured him, crinkling her nose in thought and taking an unsure breath. "Can I ask you a question?" she paused. "About Hogwarts?"

"I thought you might eventually," he smothered his groan, apparently a bit disappointed but deciding this was inevitable. "Exactly how many questions do you have, Granger?"

_A lot..._

"I'm not sure," she mused, tapping her finger against his knuckles as she considered. "Perhaps three?"

"If I agree to your little interrogation," he tested warily, taking his hand away from hers to hold his drink. "Will you agree to discuss something less...melancholy for the remainder of the evening? And that includes the case."

"Alright," she nodded, a little disheartened that he had removed his hand from hers, and noticing that he had tensed.

"And of course," he went on, trailing his index finger over the rim of his glass. "I get to ask you three questions too."

"Me?" her eyes widened. "You want to ask me things?"

"Yes or no, Granger?"

"Okay," she agreed, inelegantly chewing on her thumb for a second. "I guess that's fair."

"Great," he muttered with obvious sarcasm, downing the rest on his whiskey. "Okay, let's get this over with. What's your first question?"

Hermione shifted in her seat, squinting her eyes as she tried to manage her thoughts. If she was being honest, she had a thousand questions she wanted to ask him, but he had given her three, so three she would ask. But what to ask him?

"Why didn't you kill Dumbledore?" she rushed out quickly, cringing as she said the words.

"I thought you might have saved that one for last," he remarked, clearly expecting that question. He took a calming breath, wishing he had ordered more of that _Famous Grouse _stuff. "I just couldn't. I can't really explain it. I just couldn't."

"Did you get punished-

"Is that your second question?" he asked her shortly.

"No," she sighed, watching him closely.

"Then I believe it's my turn," he smirked. "Why did you and Weasley break up?"

"That's easy," she smiled, somewhat relieved she felt completely comfortable answering that question having answered it to many others. "When you're friends with someone that long, it's impossible to stay in a relationship. We already knew everything about each other so we didn't get to do all that learning stuff most couples do and it was a bit like dating a cousin or something-

"I get the picture," Draco made a disgusted face. "I think I may have wasted a question."

"Sorry," she quipped. "No retakes if you don't like the answer."

"Didn't think there would be," he shrugged, gesturing to the waiter that he needed another whiskey. "Next question?"

Hermione stopped to think, quickly running through their years at Hogwarts and plucking any gaps that could include him. She could ask more questions about Dumbledore, but what else did she need to know? She knew he'd been forced into it. Maybe some questions about Voldemort, but what good would they do? A part of her wanted to know why Draco had been so reluctant to identify them at Malfoy Manor, but she figured that it would be the same reason he hadn't killed Dumbledore; it had just never been in him to kill.

"Why don't you and Graham Montague get along?" she went with instead.

"Because he's a prick," Draco barked, his lip curling in contempt. "He always wanted to be one of the Death Eaters, but his parents never were so he was sort of overlooked. After the incident with the Weasley twins and the time he spent in St. Mungo's he became rather unbalanced and he blamed us lot."

"Us lot?" she repeated, tilting her head.

"Me, Blaise, Goyle," he listed. "All the Slytherins who had connections to Death Eaters basically. He's a sly bastard-

"As oppose to other Slytherins?"she rose a sceptical eyebrow.

"We were loyal to each other," he told her squarely. "He would have stabbed anyone in the back to be recognised by Voldemort, including people in his own house. Just trust me when I say he's bad news, Granger."

"Hence why he's a suspect," Hermione finished with a frown, storing the information. "Your turn."

The waiter brought him a fresh glass of whiskey, and Draco tapped the tumbler pensively. He did not want to ask another pointless question. No, he needed to ask something that would prove useful.

"If Potter and Weasley object to your...involvement with me," he worded carefully, gaining an unimpressed look from his date. "Would you...well, would that affect it?"

"I don't think Harry would be a problem," she revealed quietly, locking his eyes. "He doesn't hate you, you know. He's just a bit wary of you, but I know he would trust my judgement if I talked with him. As for Ron, I'm not so sure he's your biggest fan-

"He hates me," Draco finished, rolling his knowing eyes. "It's okay, Granger. I hardly cry myself to sleep at night about it."

"You hate each other," she corrected pointedly. "You two have a definite personality clash going on, even if you have changed-

"You haven't answered my question," he reminded her. "This may surprise you, but I'm not entirely bothered about mine and Weasley's mutual hatred."

"Alright, sarcasm," she huffed, taking a sip of her wine. "No, I think I could probably convince him that he should trust my judgement, although it might take some effort. Besides, he's objected to all my relationships, and it never stopped me. He hated Viktor, and I was seeing a guy in France who he didn't like, and he wasn't fond of-

"I didn't ask for your entire dating history, Granger," he scowled at her. There was that protective stab again, verging dangerously on possessive.

"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Draco," she commented with a little grin. "Exactly how many women have you-

"Is that your last question?" he stopped her.

"No," she scoffed.

"So just to clarify," he prompted her, also trying to distract her from his colourful bed-activities. "You wouldn't end our...thing-

"How very articulate of you," Hermione shook her head. "No I wouldn't end our _thing_, and you know, the word 'relationship' won't burn your tongue-

"I don't want to risk it," he smirked, only receiving another irritated look. "Come on, Granger. You said yourself that this is a little odd, and very out of my comfort zone. And before you ask, yes I'm sure I want to carry on with this, it's just going to take some getting used to."

"I can understand that," she breathed thoughtfully. "I think I know what my next question is."

"Go ahead."

"Do you think that...well, if it hadn't been for my Muggle background," Hermione stumbled over her words nervously. "Would you have still hated me in Hogwarts?"

"Definitely not," he answered quickly, surprising her. "Assuming that I hadn't been brought up to hate Muggle-borns and Gryffindors, I think your intelligence would have impressed me. In fact I believe our current situation is proof of that. I think you may have wasted a question there, Granger."

"Damn," she muttered. "Good point. Can I try again?"

"No retakes, remember?" he reminded her. "But if you agree to come home with me tonight, I may reconsider."

Hermione couldn't stop the feminine laugh that leaked from her lips, and Draco resisted the urge to lean over and kiss her, especially when she blushed a little. Perhaps he could get used to this.

"Okay," she agreed, sending him a smile that Draco found stupidly charming. "But I will have to leave early in the morning, so I can be ready for my meeting with Creevey's flatmate."

"That's fine," he grinned. "What's your question then?"

Hermione's lips twitched. She knew what she wanted to ask him, but she felt a little embarrassed about it.

_To hell with it.._

"Did you ever find me attractive in Hogwarts?" she mumbled, the words falling out of her mouth in one quick exhale.

Draco's eyes widened at her question, making her feel just that little bit more humiliated. She had expected a witty remark about her self-confidence, but he surprised her again when his forehead creased in thought.

"I wasn't allowed to find you attractive," he said with a monotonous tone. "It was never an option for me."

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment that settled in her chest. She had expected him just to say no, but it still bothered her. She thought that was all the answer she was going to receive so she opened her mouth to ask him something, but he cut her off.

"You did look rather decent at the Yule Ball though, Granger," he admitted, pleased when her chagrin faded and was replaced with a flattered smile.

"Thank you," she said. "You have one more question left."

"Did you ever find me attractive in Hogwarts?" he smirked, but then it faltered. "Wait no, that's obvious. Of course you did."

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing because it was true. He may have been an arsehole in Hogwarts but there was no denying that he had always been a handsome bugger. She watched him tap his finger against his lips as he thought, before a serious look stole his face.

The question had slipped into Draco's mind stealthily and now he couldn't get rid of it. He wanted it answered but he wasn't quite sure he could ask her. Maybe he wouldn't like her response, or perhaps his pride had decided it taken enough battering for a the last few days. He took a big sip of his drink.

"I know you hated me and everything," he frowned, already regretting his decision and looking down at the table. "But did you ever think I was evil?"

Hermione blinked. Once. Then twice. She quickly shuffled though her memories of him. Had she ever called him evil? Had that adjective ever once crossed her mind when she had considered him? She thought about the time she had punched him, remembering with a slight pang that she had indeed called him that very word.

_You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach..._

"No," she whispered after a swollen pause. "Voldemort was evil. You were just a bully and a prat who was mislead and forced to do cruel things. That was why I was so surprised when Harry told me you had the Mark-

"You were surprised?" he repeated, his eyes widening.

"Very," she recalled with a curious glance at his arm, realising she hadn't seen it once in the last two months. "What happened to it?"

"They faded after he was beaten," Draco explained in a dull voice. "Mine never got much use so it disappeared pretty quickly."

"That's good," she replied blankly, realising the conversation had turned a little too morbid for her liking.

"Right, that's enough of that," he stated, his tone aloof. "You agreed we could talk about something else."

"I did," she nodded, pleased he had sensed that a change in topic was needed. "Did you finish reading _Confessions of a Justified Sinner_?"

"Yes," he snapped, fixing her with an odd look. "One of the most bizarre things I've ever read. What the fuck was all that about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, was the guy a head-case?" he started, placing his hands back down on the table. "Or was all that shit actually real?"

"That's the point," she grinned at his confusion. "You're never really meant to know. It's meant to make you think."

"Strange book," he commented, shaking his head. "And these Calvinist freaks actually exist in the Muggle world?"

"Yes," she admitted, secretly wondering if Ron would be able to wrap his head around the concept. "So you didn't like it?"

"I didn't hate it," he confessed truthfully. "I'm a little confused about the intended message that Hogg guy way trying get across."

"It's about religion mainly," she explained, reaching over to trail her fingertips across his hand again. "About how extremism can be dangerous."

"I guess that makes sense," he breathed, watching her movements absently. "I prefer that Heaney bloke though."

"He's one of my favourites," she nodded her head enthusiastically. "I never would have thought you'd be interested in poetry, Draco. You seem like the kind of person who prefers facts to art."

"I appreciate both," he told her, keeping his hand still as her fingernails moved over his thumb. "I recognise a good writer when I read one."

"Do you prefer him to Byron?"

"I'm not sure," he responded, giving her a strange look. "Why?

"I'm deciding," she looked up at him. "Whether to recommend Ted Hughes or William Blake to you next."

"Probably Heaney," he decided, glancing around the restaurant and giving her hand a subconscious squeeze. "We should probably get going, Granger. This place is starting to empty."

"So it is."

.

* * *

.

Hermione stirred when her pillow started to vibrate from her waking charm. Her nutmeg-sleepy eyes fluttered open and her hand reached up to brush the hair away from her eyes. She could feel Draco's chest pressed up against her bare back, and his steady heartbeats vibrated down her spine. His arm was tossed casually over her, his wrist bending over her pelvic bone, and she inhaled the scent of his air before she decided to move.

"_Finite_," she whispered, and her pillow stopped quivering.

She carefully moved her body away from him and out of his bed, grabbing her discarded underwear and slipping it on quietly. She eyed her green dress and pursed her lips before her stare shifted to a white shirt draped over his desk. She reached for it after a slight hesitation and slipped it over her head, trying to tame her hair with her fingers.

"Draco," she called in a throaty voice, nearing the bed to lean over him. "Draco?"

"What?" he groaned, turning slightly and opening one eye. "Bugger off, Granger. I'm trying to sleep."

"Charming," she frowned, nudging his arm a little so he would actually look at her. "Can I borrow this shirt to go home in?"

"Hm," he gave her a slight nod, reluctantly opening his eyes to give her an approving look. "Looks better on you anyway. Why don't you come back to bed for a-

"Because I need to get ready for work," she reasoned, pulling away from him. "You should get up too."

"I will in a bit," he dismissed her, turning back over. "See you later."

She rolled her eyes and gathered her belongings, leaving her new lover to have those extra forty winks in bed. Once again, she thanked the wonders of magic as she walked up to his fireplace.

_No need to worry about the walk of shame in the Wizard World. _

.

* * *

.

Draco rubbed his tired eyes as he headed to his office, hoping Tilly had already sorted his morning coffee. Indeed, the older witch was sat at her desk outside his office, ready with a mug of his preferred morning beverage.

"Mr. Malfoy," she smiled as he picked up the drink. "There was a message left for you a few minutes ago. Someone was trying to enter the Ministry wishing to speak to you."

"Why weren't they allowed in?" he queried.

"The new security measures," she reminded him with a shrug. "Everyone needs appointments now. Anyway, it was some bloke from your school."

"Did he leave a name?"

"Just give me a second," she requested, shuffling through the various documents on her desk. "Here we go; Caleb Warrington. Ring any bells?"

Indeed it did. He hadn't heard that name in years, since his fifth year to be exact, but he remembered the man well. He'd been part of the Inquisitorial Squad and a typical Slytherin in many respects but, as far as he knew, hadn't had anything to with the War.

"He just left his name?" Draco questioned, rather intrigued.

"He said you might be interested some things he has to say," she read from the note. "And if you were interested you should owl him."

"Do that," Draco told her stiffly. "Send a memo down to the Transport Department to let them know he has an appointment, and tell Warrington to get here as soon as he can."

"Will do," Tilly nodded, used to her superior's blunt attitude. "The Trace reports are already on your desk."

The pale blond offered her a brief nod before leaving her to her tasks and entering his office. He quickly started on the Traces and frowned when he noticed Flint's name was still on the list. He would have to have that removed at some point, but he decided to wait until he had spoken Warrington.

He tried to come up with a practical list of reasons for Warrington's sudden request to meet him, but he had no clue where to begin. He'd been an alright guy, just an acquaintance really, but he remembered most of Slytherin had wanted him to be selected for the Triwizard Tournament when he'd placed his name in the the Goblet. And he'd been the the Slytherin Chaser for a bit, but that was all he could recall.

As far as Draco knew, Warrington had had no connection to the Death Eaters and no involvement with any Dark Magic. Save hexing a few Gryffindors in fifth year, the guy had been tame for a Slytherin, so Draco didn't think he should feel concerned in anyway, he was just quite curious. But what could Warrington have to say that would possibly benefit him? But a heavy knock at the door broke his thoughts.

Warrington didn't wait for an invitation, and Draco eyed the tall man suspiciously as he moved further into his office. The wizard had a similar athletic build to Diggory and mousy-thin hair around his hard face. The first thing Draco noticed, as the man took a seat opposite him, was that he looked absolutely knackered and agitated.

"You just going to stare at me all day, Malfoy?" the older wizard questioned sharply.

"I'd really rather not," Draco responded quickly, leaning back in his chair to give the man a condescending look.

"You haven't changed," Caleb chuckled. "I can tell you're suspicious of me."

"I'm just trying to figure out exactly why you're here," he confessed, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. "Are you going to sit there all day or does this have a point?"

"Well it's hardly a social visit," the wizard breathed, sweeping a stressed hand over his hair. "I may have some information for you."

"Information about what?" Draco questioned, deciding this could already be a waste of his time.

"The murders."

Draco raised his eyebrows at Warrington, his attention suitably gained. He leaned forward to rest his elbows against his desk and examined his old schoolmate's face closely, searching for the tell-tale signs of trickery and deceit.

"You have my attention," Draco admitted stonily. "Elaborate."

"Before I do," he said, rubbing his chin. "I would like to make a negotiation."

"Negotiation?"

"Yes," he nodded, his tone suddenly stronger and professional. "I'm still a Slytherin, Malfoy. What I have to say comes with a price."

"Of course," Draco sneered, clenching his jaw. "How do I know what you have to say is valuable?"

"I can assure you it is," he replied. "But if you're not satisfied, then I will expect no gratification-

"Good, because you wouldn't get any," the blond scowled. "What do you want?"

"Protection," Warrington stated simply, offering a nonchalant shrug. "My fiancé is a Muggle-born, and I want to know that she will be safe."

Draco managed to keep his face blank with a bit of effort. So he wasn't the only Slytherin who had taken an interest in a Muggle-born.

_Perhaps we were all drugged..._

But they had something in common, and for that sole reason alone, Draco decided that the man in front of him wasn't as irritating as he had initially been.

"I'm not sure how much I can promise in that respect," he told Warrington truthfully. "The Aurors are pretty busy at the moment-

"I wouldn't expect much," Caleb stopped him. "Just a system where we could contact them directly if it's necessary."

"I'll see what I can do," Draco breathed, knowing he would have to ask Hermione about that. "So, what exactly do you know, Warrington?"

"A few things," he breathed, fixing his eyes with Draco. "Nott and I remained close after Hogwarts and I knew about all the letters he was getting. After he was killed I called in a few favours and did a bit of digging."

"I see," the blond nodded, urging his to continue.

"I don't think that the _V _marks are anything to with Voldemort," Warrington stated confidently, and Draco raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever heard of the _Vendetta Movement_, Malfoy?"

.

* * *

.

a/n: Has anyone else seen the new pics for the last film? The ones where they've made the characters into their older selves? Not happy with the way they did Draco at all!

Maybe I'm just bitter because I was hoping Rowling would have an epiphany and finally realise that Draco and Hermione were meant to be together and these pics have chased away that hope... sigh...Never mind! This is what fanfiction is for!

Hope everyone remembers Warrington from the books. I know he didn't have a first name, just the initial C, so I'm going with Caleb.

Also thanks to the people who helped me understand the Beta system. If you think I should have one let me know. If enough of you say yes I'll look into it.

Hope the chapter was okay... really happy with the reviews I've received and it's cool that I've been favourited by 60+ of you so thanks very much for reading! Review please!

Lend me your thoughts!

Bex-chan.


	19. Information

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 19: Information.

.

Hermione marched through the corridors of the Ministry, heading to Draco's office after her very unfulfilling meeting with Julian Horne, Dennis Creevey's flatmate. Horne had managed to salvage two letters that Creevey had received, but just like the letters that had been recovered from the other victims, the writing was charmed to become scrambled and illegible in some cryptic code after the recipient had read it.

It wasn't a particularly complicated charm, in fact Hermione remembered some Ravenclaws using it to pass notes at Hogwarts, but if the author had enough time and knowledge to influence the codes extensively, it could take years to decipher them. For all Hermione knew, he could have used a different code for each of his victims.

Apart from the letters, Horne had been fairly useless. She knew it wasn't his fault, but she had left the young wizard's company in a foul mood and feeling like she had wasted two hours of her life. Tilly wasn't at her desk so Hermione went straight for the office door, already intending to moan about her pointless morning.

It probably didn't help that she was remarkably uncomfortable. Draco had been wonderfully rough with her last night, but the aftermath had left her tender and twinging if she took an awkward step or too-bold stride. Having to ease herself slowly onto Horne's couch while muttering small curses of pain hadn't been entirely helpful.

"Well, that was useless," she muttered, closing the door behind her. "Just more bloody letters in some stupid...

She trailed off when she realised there was a man sat in her seat, watching her with amusement. She scanned his face, knowing she recognised him but unable to place why. Her fingers instinctively caressed the tip of her wand in her pocket, and her eyes darted over to Draco, who looked rather distracted.

"Everything okay?" she directed her question at him, flicking her eyes back over to the stranger.

"It's fine, Granger," he said calmly, and she walked a little closer to the desk. "You don't remember Warrington?"

"Caleb?" she confirmed, standing next to Draco's seat and regarding the other wizard carefully. "From the Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Correct," Warrington nodded. "I read somewhere that you two were working together-

"What exactly are you doing here?" she questioned sharply.

"Malfoy will explain everything," he answered, rising from his seat with a small groan. "I should be leaving."

"Was there anything else?" Draco asked, leaning forward slightly.

"That's all I know," Caleb sighed, heading for the door. "But I will be in contact if I find out anything else. I expect you to keep up your end of the agreement."

"I'll do what I can."

With a parting nod, Warrington left the room with the soft _click_ of the door. Hermione slowly made her way back to her chair, a suspicious frown on her face as she regarded her companion. Her curious features faltered as she connected with the chair, still a little sensitive after his ministrations, and she flinched, rousing a chuckle from her lover.

"Don't be embarrassed, Granger," he taunted with a snide grin when her cheeks burned. "I'm surprised you can stand-

"Shut it," she warned him, clenching her teeth as she tried to shift into a decent position. "You can make fun later. What exactly was that about?"

"He had some information for us," he explained, his amused grin turning serious and concentrated. "About the case."

"What?" she questioned, her eyes widening a fraction. "Elaborate, please."

"What do you know about the _Vendetta Movement_, Granger?" he asked, watching her expression carefully.

"They were one of the anti-Muggle groups after the war," she recalled, her face scrunching slightly as she tried to remember what she could. "They more or less formed straight after the Voldemort's defeat, if I remember rightly. Why?"

"I'll explain in a minute," he ignored her question. "What else?"

"I didn't have much to do with it," she shrugged. "I'd barely started Auror training-

"What do you remember?"

"Vaisey was the leader," she commented, absently tapping her bottom lip as she racked her brain. "A few Muggle-borns were injured I think but it barely lasted a few months. Vaisey was found and he's still in Azkaban."

"And why didn't anyone know about this?" Draco asked, wondering when her intellectual rants had ceased to be irritating and become enchanting. "I didn't see anything in the paper."

"Probably because the public was still recovering after the war," she supplied. "There were a lot of rebellion groups, but they were disorganised and didn't last long. The Ministry kept most of the details from the public."

"Do you know anything about the attacks on the Muggle-borns by Vaisey's group?"

"Nothing comes to mind," she frowned, becoming impatient with his vagueness. "What does this have to do with Warrington's visit?"

"He was friends with Nott," Draco sighed, leaning towards her slightly. "He did some research after he was murdered and wanted to discus his theory with me. And I have to admit, it's rather convincing."

"Go on," she encouraged, very intrigued.

"He reckons the V we find on the victims might symbolise the _Vendetta Movement_," he told her, reciting Warrington's words.

"V for Vendetta?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows. "Like the film?"

"What?"

"Never mind," she shook her head. "But Vaisey's group was stopped four years ago-

"Warrington found out that some of the Muggle-borns that were attacked had similar V marks to Goyle and the others," he revealed.

"Are you serious?" she gasped. "Anything else?"

"Apparently Nott asked Warrington about the group a few days before he was killed," Draco went on . "Warrington reckons he'd just finished reading a letter."

"I've been working on the letters," she offered with a dejected breath. "But the codes are so advanced, I'm not sure I'm getting anywhere. Perhaps I should focus on Nott's specifically if they're looking the most promising."

"Were all of Vaisey's associates sent to Azkaban?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, pushing her hair back with her fingertips. "I really don't know, Draco."

"Would you be able to access any information about this?" he asked.

"Draco," she started carefully, folding her arms across her chest. "Are you sure this isn't just a coincidence? Vaisey's group was dealt with four years ago. Did Warrington imply that this is a copycat or that the Ministry missed one of the members?"

"Neither," Draco shook his head. "He told me what he thought was relevant."

"Okay," she said slowly, still uncertain. "And you trust him?"

"No," he confessed. "But he has no reason to lie."

"I'm not sure," Hermione sighed, reaching out to brush her fingertips over his arm.

"Look," he breathed, watching as her fingers absently marked a circle on his skin. "Nott mentioned the group, and the V mark similarity is something we should look into. We don't have much else to work on."

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly, removing her hand from his skin. "I'll try and get the information on Vaisey's group. Did Caleb say anything else?"

"No."

"And what did you have to agree to for him to tell you this?" she questioned, eyeing him sceptically.

"His fiancé is a Muggle-born," Draco explained, his voice steady. "He asked for her protection."

"And you agreed to that?"

"I said I would do what I could," he nodded. "He didn't want constant surveillance for her or anything, just a method to contact one of the Aurors directly. I thought you could think of something."

"That's doable," she agreed after a slight pause. "I could create something similar to the coins we used in the D.A. And then possibly an emergency portkey, but they will take about a week or so."

"That's fine," he nodded, looking slightly surprised. "I thought I would have to work a little harder to convince you, Granger."

"Apparently, I have a lot in common with his fiancé," she offered him a small grin. "You Slytherin boys are certainly falling off the anti-Muggle pedestal, aren't you?"

"Very funny," he rolled his eyes at her. "Do you think we would be wasting our time with this?"

"I have no idea," she shrugged. "But I suppose we should look into it. I'll head down to the Auror Offices and see what I can find."

Hermione shifted too quickly on her seat, muttering a shaky _bugger_ when the delightful pain tugged under her stomach. She rose awkwardly from her chair, sucking the breath between her teeth. Summoning all her frustration, she shot Draco an icy glare that only seemed to encourage his smug smirk.

"Very elegant, Granger," he commented, watching with obvious mirth as she struggled to her feet. She braced her palms against the desk, hoping she looked at least intimidating while the reminiscent throbbing between her hips settled. From the look on her lover's face, she doubted it.

"Wipe that grin off your lips," she demanded, fighting the urge to admit this was a little humorous. "This is not funny."

"I beg to differ," he arched an eyebrow, reaching up to place a patronising peck against her stiff lips.

"You better hope this calms down by lunch," she warned him as he pulled away from her. "Or that will be that last kiss you get-

"Sure," his lips stretched a little. "Would you like some help to the Offices, Granger?"

"One more snarky comment from you," she said as she straightened her posture. "And your precious desk is going to see the end of my wand. You should get a start on the Trace Reports."

"Yes, dear," he snorted sarcastically as she left him alone.

.

* * *

.

After an hour, Draco was half-heartedly finishing up the Trace Reports and wondering just what the hell was taking her so long. The tips of his toes were pushing hard against the floorboards as he considered rising from his seat to go and find her, just as her small frame pushed past his door, clutching some parchments. It was ridiculous how calming her presence was on him.

"What were you doing?" he questioned harshly as she swayed back to her chair. "Writing the file by yourself?"

"Do you have any idea how many anti-Muggle groups there have been?" she threw back, placing her bundle of parchments on his desk. "But it's good news. Apparently Warrington's research was pretty accurate."

"It was?" Draco shot her a look as he gathered the file and started scanning the contents.

"The thing he said about the V marks was correct," she revealed calmly. "One Muggle-born was killed and four were attacked and all were left with a V-shaped scar. Vaisey and two other wizards were given life-sentences in Azkaban, but here's the clincher."

"Go on," he urged her, his lip twitching when he noticed that her hair was a little mussed from her search. It reminded him of her morning hair, which subsequently reminded him of their lusty weekend.

"Well," she offered him a slight smile of brilliance. "There were two other people associated with the _Vendetta Movement _who weren't sent to Azkaban, and one of them was Adrian Pucey."

"Seriously?" Draco's eyes widened.

His thoughts turned to the old Slytherin Chaser, his mind swimming with doubt. Of all the people he had listed for Hermione, Pucey had seemed the least likely candidate for any violence. He remembered Pucey getting taunted for his 'soft' nature, particularly by Flint. Adrian had been one of the few Slytherin players who hadn't fouled or played dirty, and he'd had no part in the War.

He knew he'd been linked to a Muggle attack in Ipswich but that had been dismissed as circumstantial. He'd have argued that Pucey had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now he was associated with more attacks, and Draco wasn't so sure.

Adrian's father had died in the War, and death did funny things to sane people.

"Who was the other one?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," Hermione shook her head, rising from her chair to walk near him and read the parchments over his shoulder. "There's no other name so either the Ministry never knew, or it's been lost."

"So why wasn't Pucey sent to Azkaban?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Not enough evidence," she stated simply, perching herself on the desk. "Vaisey mentioned Adrian to the Wizengamot but they deemed it was just out of spite."

"So, what now?" Draco asked her, trying to ignore her shapely legs as they stretched, allowing her to adjust herself on his desk. _Their _desk. "Do you want to ask Potter and Boot to monitor him again? Maybe for a longer period of time?"

"No," she breathed, observing him with thoughtful eyes. "Actually, I was hoping you would agree to talk with him."

"What?" he shot her a confused look. "What good could possibly come from that?"

"Harry and Terry have had no luck," she supplied. "And you two knew each other in Hogwarts. Perhaps you might pick up on something. You're good at reading people and you know this case back-to-front."

"You have those qualities too, Granger," he pointed out, turning in his chair to regard her fully.

"I think he'd be more relaxed around you," she reasoned, and he resented her for having a point. "Come on, Draco. You know I'm right."

"I wouldn't go that far," he argued, summoning his best cold look. "But fine. I'll give it a shot."

"Thank you," she smiled at him, leaning forward from the desk to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Evidently she was oblivious that the little movement had caused her blouse to shift seductively lower down her chest.

"Get off the desk, Granger," he muttered carefully.

"Why?"

"Because the way you're sitting on the desk is a little too familiar," he half-growled, clenching the arms of his chair slightly too tight.

"I see," she grinned smugly, and Draco watched her closely as she removed herself from the desk and ruthlessly settled her behind on his lap. "Is this any better?"

"Granger," he snarled, refusing to let his itching fingers touch her. "You're the one who said-

"It's lunch time," she stopped him, running her hands up his chest to rest either side of his neck. She toyed with some of his too-blond hairs and he tensed his jaw as he glared at her. "I see no harm with some light petting. No more than kissing though, of course."

Hermione ignored the irked expression on his handsome face and fluttered some delicate kisses across his sealed lips. Draco allowed her affectionate gestures for all of twenty seconds before he pushed her, deceptively gently, off his lap. With a small huff of mortification as she landed on the hard, wooden floor, she shot her lover a fiery stare.

"What the bloody hell-

"Rules are rules, Granger," he told her, a cruel smirk pulling at his mouth. "And we all know how much you love rules-

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed," she snorted, rising to her feet with as much elegance as she could manage.

"You made it quite clear that there would be no...fun while we were working," he reminded her, smothering the urge to help her get her footing.

"Technically," Hermione purred defensively as she rested back against his desk. "I said 'no shagging' in the office. I just wanted to give you a little kiss-

"Kissing leads to other things, Granger," he remarked coolly, taking a moment to trail his eyes over her. "Especially when you decide to wear low-cut blouses and sit on the _the _desk."

"Well then, perhaps you should learn to control your hormones a little better," she taunted, holding his chin to latch a determined kiss against his mouth. He didn't resist her this time, and she graced him with a knowing smile when she pulled away. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You're an infuriating woman, Granger," he said with harmless force, subconsciously running his palm over her hip.

"I know," she chirped, making her way back to her seat. "What do you want to do for lunch then?"

"Go back to yours?" he suggested with a smirk. "I can think of something I'd like to eat-

"Don't be so crude," she scolded, bowing her head to hide her blush. "Seriously, what do you want to do?"

"Prude," he rolled his eyes. "Fine, let's grab something from downstairs and eat it here. You can go over what you want me to say to Pucey."

.

* * *

.

Since Hermione had agreed to help train Castor and Jason on the Friday, they reasoned that was the best time for Draco to give Pucey a little visit. The Malfoy heir was still reluctant but agreed anyway, knowing it would be impossible to convince her otherwise. She was watching Clearwater tonight, and he realised that he hadn't visited his mother for a few days so he Flooed there straight from the Ministry.

"Where were you last night?" Narcissa asked when he found her in one of the sitting rooms, sipping some tea. "I thought you agreed to visit me."

"Something came up," he told her, secretly thinking that his statement could refer to a certain part of his anatomy. "How have you been?"

"Fine," she said quickly, waving a dismissive hand at him. "So, what happened with Hermione?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped, keeping his face blank. "Are you still on that?"

"Yes, I am," she huffed, observing her son closely. "Did you ask her out?"

"I think I made it quite clear," he mumbled, trying to keep his glare steady. "That there was nothing going on-

"Actually, you admitted to kissing her twice," she smiled, holding up two fingers to emphasise her point. "And then you got all moody and defensive and left in a tantrum-

"I did not," he growled.

"Draco," she said with that maternal tone of hers. "I won't tell you again. I will not stand lying in this house. Just tell me what's going on."

Draco could count the number of people who made him feel guilty on one hand. His mother would be the middle finger.

"What exactly are you expecting me to say?" he asked her carefully.

"I just want the truth," she told him squarely, topping up her tea. "I know something has happened. You know you can't hide anything from me, Draco."

His eyes stayed on his mother's face for a moment, calculating the positives and negatives that could come from revealing things to her. He would have to admit defeat and face her inevitable gloating, but that seemed preferable to her temper is she discovered he was lying. Plus, he really didn't like that he was being dishonest with her.

"I took her to dinner," he admitted, choosing his words carefully. "And we agreed to take things from there-

"You agreed to a relationship?" his mother asked, her expression surprised. "Finally, Draco-

"A _possible _relationship," he rephrased, ignoring that cheerful grin she was directing at him. "Don't get ahead of yourself, mother."

"So you admit that you like her?" she questioned with a very smug gleam in her eyes. "I know the answer's pretty obvious, but I'd like to hear you say it anyway-

"Swivel," Draco snapped, helping himself to a Firewhiskey.

"It's about time you found a girl with a bit of sense," she commented, her face turning serious for a second. "You better not have sex with her and ditch her like you do the others, Draco-

"Can you not discus my sex life," he stopped her with a disgusted face. "And do you honestly think I would do that knowing she could fuck up my career with a quick word to Shacklebolt? I have considered this carefully. I know I'll regret this next comment, but you were right, mother."

"Of course I was," she smirked at him. "Don't worry, I'm not going to gloat."

"You still can't say anything to anyone," he remembered to tell her. "Granger wants to tell Potter and Wesley in her own time."

"That seems fair."

"Why were you so sure?" he asked her, schooling his features back to their aloof mask.

"You're a Malfoy," she commented with a proud smile. "And the Malfoy men always get what they want."

.

* * *

.

Hermione made him breakfast on Friday morning and he decided there and then that her bacon butties were the best he'd ever tasted. Served with a cup of milky coffee and a quick round of morning sex in his shower, he'd had a bloody decent morning. She was currently getting dressed in his room while he brushed his teeth and contemplated what he was going to say when he met Pucey today.

"Right, I'm going to work," she muttered as she joined him in his bathroom, talking to his reflection in the mirror. "Are you going to the Ministry first, or heading straight to Pucey's?"

"Probably Pucey's," he mumbled over the toothbrush between his lips. "Are you training all day, or will I see you after?"

"I'll see how it goes," she shrugged, lacing her arms around his bare torso and dotting some absentminded kisses across his shoulder-blades. "Have you decided how to broach the subject with him."

"I'll figure it out," he shrugged. "I doubt writing a script will help. I'll just wing it."

"Okay," she nodded, stroking her lazy fingers over the creases of his abdomen. "I've been meaning to thank you, by the way."

"What for?" he eyed her curiously in the misty glass.

"I expected things to be more awkward and difficult in work," she confessed, moving her mouth over the top his spine. "But they haven't. Perhaps thankful isn't the right sentiment, but I'm not sure how else I can say it."

"You always assume the worst," he told her, his breath catching when her teeth grazed one his vertebrae. "I assured I would be professional."

"You did," she nodded, looking over her shoulder with smiling eyes. "Still, I am both relieved and impressed that things have been okay."

He shifted uncomfortably, but placed his hand over hers anyway. He had learned that Hermione was someone who could quite happily reveal her emotions when she deemed it necessary, and they always left him feeling somewhere between charmed and awkward.

He knew that her ability to talk to him so openly meant that she trusted him, and for that he was grateful. On the other hand, he was naturally stoic, and never quite sure how to respond. She never complained though, apparently sensing his reluctance to even entertain the notion of being sentimental.

"I should get going," she mumbled against his back. "Remember to take the portkey in case anything goes wrong and you need to make a quick exit."

"Not necessary, but okay," he frowned at her, turning his shape to suck on her bottom lip for a second.

"If I don't see you at the office," she sighed, her breath teasing the stray hairs at his forehead. "Shall I come here later, or something else?"

"You're not watching Clearwater tonight?" he asked her, fingering the collar of her shirt.

"No, she's with Volan tonight," the witch explained, and then a mischievous look crossed her features. "Perhaps you should come to to mine so I can finally teach you the wonders of Muggle technology and we could watch a film."

"I'm still not entirely sure what that means," he watched her sceptically as she moved away from him. "But fine, I'll pop round later."

"Perfect," she grinned as she left the bathroom. "Good luck with Pucey."

He waited as he heard her footfalls across his floor and down the stairs, until he heard the rumble of the Floo. He still wasn't entirely sure what to expect from this 'film' business, but from her descriptions he had come to the conclusion that it was a device that projected images, similar to a pensieve, but it displayed fictional sequences for entertainment purposes. He had to admit he was a little intrigued. He had seen her use the television a couple of times but not long enough to get a good idea about how it worked.

He realised then that it was Friday, and Granger seemed completely fine, if anything more cheerful than usual. Friday was her bitchy day, as proven by her consistent snappy comments and vulgar mood-swings in the previous weeks. It was the first Friday they had woken up together, and so far she seemed perfectly normal, not the temperamental head-case he'd confronted in his office.

He would have thought about it for a little longer, but he had things to do today. Things that were going to take some effort and deliberation.

Just what the hell was he going to ask Pucey?

He was certain he would think of something. He'd always had a knack for improvising.

.

* * *

.

Adrian Pucey lived in Brixton in the South End on a small street called Brighton Terrace, not far from the famous Electric Avenue. He had been told by Hermione that this area was a little rough and had given him a brief history of the area, explaining to him something about bombs and riots. He hadn't really caught it all but he could tell the place was rather shifty.

Several derelict buildings cluttered the streets, and as he eyed the building he'd been told Pucey lived in, he could make out the remains of burns against the brick walls. He paused to examine some curious holes dotted in frantic patterns, like someone had fired little balls at a fast pace at buildings. Perhaps he would ask Granger about that later.

Angling his wand in his pocket and quickly glancing around, he muttered _Alohomora_, and the fragile door gave way to his magic. He stumbled up the littered steps, trying hard not trip over discarded newspapers and tin cans. His destination, of course, happened to lie at the top floor of the unstable staircase. He considered casting a quick cleaning charm to clear his route, but Hermione had insisted he keep his magic to a minimum until he was inside Pucey's flat.

He finally reached the grey door marked '6b' and steadied himself before he repeated the _Alohomora _spell, a little surprised when the door actually opened. Apparently, Pucey had become rather sloppy with his magic. No locking spells on the door and no wards? Pitiful.

Draco slowly made his way into the room, pleased to note that the space was definitely a wizard's habitat, especially as he was beginning to think Granger may have scribbled the wrong address. The room had been stretched magically and there were familiar objects scattered around such as a broom and an edition of _Hogwarts: A History. _

It was tidier in comparison to the rest of the building but Draco still felt a little disgusted by the state of the place. He closed the door silently behind him and made his way into the flat, minding his feet didn't make too much noise. He could hear a faint rustling behind a slightly ajar door so he made his way to it and peeked through the gap.

Sure enough, he could make out a humanoid shadow, and with barely a second's hesitation, he shouldered the door open and flung out his wand, realising he was in Pucey's bedroom.

"_Expelliarmus," _Draco called in a steady voice, and an unfamiliar wand landed in his palm.

He ignored the shocked gasp as the figure slowly turned around, and Malfoy offered Pucey a superior smirk. He'd expected more surprise and outrage from his old schoolmate once he'd realised who'd disarmed him, but instead, a calm acceptance crossed the old Chaser's face as he lingered by his bed.

"Malfoy," Adrian breathed with relief. "You scared the living crap out of me."

"I expected a little more resistance," he commented warily, his wand still trained on Pucey. "Were you expecting me, or do you always leave your home unprotected by wards?"

"They seem a little pointless," he shrugged, moving away from his bed. "The only people who would bother visiting could beat any wards I'd put up-

"You're expecting people?"

"I find it's best to always expect people," Adrian commented flippantly, moving past Malfoy into the living area. "Then there's no element of surprise."

"But you weren't expecting me?" Draco tested, lowering his wand to follow his fellow Slytherin.

"I'm no seer," he commented, flopping himself on his couch and gesturing for Draco to take a seat opposite, which he hesitantly did. "To predict that the infamous Malfoy would decide to break into my home on a random Friday is something that crazy bat at Hogwarts would have blurted in class. What was that woman's name?"

"Trelawney," he provided automatically.

"That's the one," he nodded with a little smile. "Can I have my wand back?"

"I think I'll hold on to it for a while," Draco suggested in a patronising tone.

"Fine" Adrian shrugged. "So what is it you want, Malfoy?"

"Information," he stated calmly, leaning his arms on his thighs. "I'm assuming you've heard about Goyle, Nott and the others?"

"Of course."

"Well, we came across some new evidence," Draco explained calmly. "And your name popped up."

"My name?" he repeated, and Malfoy had to admit, his confusion was rather convincing.

"What can you tell me about the _Vendetta Movement, _Pucey?" he said slowly, deciding just to be blunt.

The dark-haired man's stare turned round and startled. He fidgeted with jerky movements on his couch, eyeing Draco like he had threatened him with a _Crucio. _His eyes flickered between Draco's storm-cold glare and the steady wand.

"I'm not sure how much I can tell you, Malfoy," Adrian admitted after a while. "And that was a long time ago-

"I have no problem dragging your arse down to the Ministry," he spat coldly, adjusting the wand to reiterate his point. "And pumping Veritaserum into you until you bleed the truth-

"Malfoy, I really can't explain everything fully," he argued, desperation stealing his face. "I'm under The Vow."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Okay, I'm really sorry about the wait. Let's just say I've had a bad few weeks so my lovely friends surprised me with a week's holiday in Turkey! If it's ant consolation I finished this chapter as fast as I could, and I have also started another story. It should be up soon.

Things will start to pick up on the case now and I encourage you to look at the little details, there will be some random clues dotted around. Also, Hermione' and Draco's relationship isn't always going to be so rosy, and that pesky Friday situation will be dealt with soon, along with Ron and Harry.

Hope this chapter was okay. Pennies for your thoughts. Read and Review please.

Bex-chan.


	20. Vows

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 20: Vows.

.

"The Vow," Draco repeated, shaking his head at the older wizard. "Bloody hell, Pucey. I thought you were smarter than that. What the hell are you doing agreeing to a Vow?"

"We didn't all have the same luck as you, Malfoy," he said with a hint of jealousy. "When the Ministry forced you to work for them, they saved you."

"Saved me from what?"

"The others," he stated simply, taking a calming breath. "The Ministry didn't catch everyone, and the ones who still believed in blood superiority formed the Rebellion groups-

"I know all this," Draco stopped him. "It _is_ my job to monitor you all. Tell me about the _Vendetta Movement_ and what they have to do with the murders happening now."

"I need to think how I can word this," he said carefully. "The Vow was specific-

"Get on with it," he threatened, straightening his wand to enhance his words.

"When Voldemort was defeated," he told Draco after a long pause. "The ones who managed to escape formed their own little Rebellion groups, rounding up as many people as they could. People like me were approached-

"People like you?"

"Unsure people," he confirmed. "My father ruined any chances I had to fit into society after the War and I was lost. The Rebellion groups promised security and some level of acceptance. Vaisey and I were friends so I accepted his offer into a group. I didn't realise they had plans to imitate Voldemort's ideals until I had taken the Vow-

"Then you are an idiot," Draco criticised. "Vaisey always made his opinions about blood supremacy very clear and had an active part in the War-

"So did you," Adrian pointed out slyly. "But you were welcomed back into society after you settled into a sweet little Ministry job. You had it easy-

"It was far from easy-

"The Ministry wanted to keep you close because you were the infamous Malfoy," he commented with a snide tone. "Don't think we didn't love the irony. It only takes one look at you to realise that you don't believe in the blood prejudices any more."

"I grew up," Draco shrugged.

"No," he argued. "You were _given_ the opportunity to change and win back some respect. The rest of us had to fend for ourselves."

"Falling in with a Rebellion group was just stupid," the blond berated. "Nott and Goyle both managed to forge decent lives for themselves. Your self-pity is pathetic. We all made mistakes."

"I was never really a believer in Voldemort's views," he mumbled, bowing his head like he was ashamed. "But my father sealed my fate. Vaisey was the only one who offered me anything after the War."

"You were a fucking fool to rush into anything," he scolded, feeling like he was lecturing a young child. "Especially something which involved a Vow."

"Vaisey wasn't the leader," he confessed, glancing around with a paranoid expression. "You and I both know that he was hardly the brainiest bastard. The Ministry got it wrong. Someone else was the leader."

"Who?"

"I can't say," he shook his head. "I wish I could, but I can't."

"Then what exactly can you tell me?" Draco pushed, growing increasingly impatient.

"Not much," he sighed. "I assume you know that Vaisey and two others ended up in Azkaban, but I managed to avoid it. I tried to stay away from the group when I realised what they were doing."

"So then how can Vaisey have anything to with the murders going on now?" the blond frowned.

"You're not listening," he breathed, raking stressed fingers through his ochre hair. "Vaisey wasn't the brains; he was a puppet, just like the rest of us. The other one manipulated everything; planned it all. I'm guessing that a name wasn't listed anywhere in the Ministry files?"

"No," Draco confirmed. "Just yours. You can't tell me who it is?"

"Not a chance," he said. "I can't tell you anything specific either, before you ask. Not the sex or hints about their appearance or anything."

"And you think this person is responsible for the murders?" Malfoy tested.

"I read about the V marks," he replied absently. "That was the group's signature."

"And why now?" he questioned. "It's been years since your sad little group was stopped."

"It could be anything," he said, tilting is head as he considered the options. "Time needed for preparation or perhaps something happened that set the person off. I really don't know."

"And you haven't received any letters or anything since this started?"

"No," he gave Draco a thoughtful look. "But I have a feeling I will soon. I assume from your question that you have found letters addressed to all the victims?" Draco nodded. "I thought as much. And they are all coded?"

"Of course," the blond growled.

"The codes for the Muggle-born letters won't be that hard to break," he said slowly, like the words simmered on his tongue. "I'm sure they will be standard threats and taunts-

"Only the Muggle-born letters?" Draco interrupted with a confused voice.

"You need to crack the codes on the ones sent to the ex-Death Eaters," Adrian said, in a tone that sounded close to a warning. "They will help. I read that you are working with Granger on the murders and-

"What about her?" Draco said too quickly, hating his obvious mistake.

"Nothing," he said defensively. "I was just going to say that if anyone could figure out the invitations she can-

"Invitations?" Draco repeated, his voice loud and agitated. He noticed then that Pucey was clutching his side like he was wounded, his eyes wild and scared. "What do you mean by invitations?"

"I've said more than I should," Adrian muttered, his tone sad and fragile. "I wish I could help you more, Malfoy, but I have crossed the line."

"What are you on about?" he ignored the other wizard's comment. "The letters to Goyle, Nott, Flint and Parkinson were invitations?"

"I can't explain anything else, Malfoy-

"Invitations for what?" he continued, spitting out his queries and aiming his wand in an obvious challenge. "Invitations for what, Pucey?"

"You need to leave," Adrian rushed his words, openly desperate. "I can't say anything more-

"How do you know they are invitations?" he asked him suspiciously. "Pucey, I will _beat_ the truth out of you if I have to-

"I CAN'T!" he screamed, rising from the sofa. "I've told you I'm under the Vow! I have told you all I can! More, in fact!"

"It's not enough," Malfoy argued, his tone eerily serene. "There are lives at risk. Fuck, I was a Death Eater! My life is at risk-

"Not you," Pucey contended with a grave voice. "I can promise that you won't get any letters."

"How can you-

"You work at the Ministry," he said. "No Rebellion groups would dare to bother you now. You've made it clear that your principles have shifted. You would be a liability."

"A liability for what?" Draco hissed.

"Surely you must have figured this out, Malfoy," Adrian groaned, his eyes disappointed and pleading the other Slytherin to see sense. "Think."

"Invitations," he muttered, more to himself as he tossed the word over in his mind. Realisation set in like a thunderstorm in his brain. "Recruitment?"

"I can't confirm anything," Adrian frowned. "The Vow won't allow-

"But that's what it is," Malfoy sneered, standing up and tossing Pucey's wand into a dusty corner. "They've been trying to recruit the old Death Eaters to join this new group. And then, what? If they refuse, they get killed?"

"I can't answer that," he said, tired and frustrated. "Because I don't know. No one was killed when I was in the _Vendetta Movement-_

"Except for the Muggle-born," he pointed out with a disgusted sneer. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"No," Adrian muttered. "I wish I could-

"Then I have no more use for you," Draco belittled him, making his way to the door. "If I find out that you have bullshitted me, I will come back with enough Veritaserum to drown you."

"Understood," he nodded, watching Malfoy's back as he headed out the flat. His lips twitched. "There is something else," he stuttered, watching as the blond paused his movements but refused to turn.

"What?" Draco grunted through his touching teeth.

"Tell Granger to consider Ancient Rome when she tries to decipher the letters," he mumbled through a painful moan. The Vow was protesting his advice. "That might help."

"I will," he glanced over his shoulder to offer the wizard a small nod.

"And also tell her to watch her back," he advised, and Draco felt his fingernails leave small crescents in his palms. "You have no idea how bad the Rebellion groups wanted to get their hands on the 'Mudblood Princess' and-

"_Impedimenta!" _Draco yelled, whirling around just as Adrian's back slammed against the wall. He waited for his old schoolmate to gather his wits before he spoke, his voice harsh like shards. "I was never here, do you understand? Or do I have to use a Confundus Charm? Or worse?"

"You were never here," Adrian muttered, eyeing the tip of Draco's wand with shaky dread.

"Good," he hissed, and then he left.

.

* * *

.

Draco walked with a haste that he hadn't felt in a while, heading to the Auror Offices. He needed to tell Granger what Pucey had revealed. This could change everything. There was someone trying to recruit ex-Death Eaters to form a group. A blood supremacy group.

What if some of the invitations had been successful?

The group could already have more than one member.

There could be more than one killer.

He was almost running now, his strides long and purposeful as he headed for the Aurors' training facilities. He rounded the corner and very nearly bumped into Neville Longbottom. Draco managed to catch himself before they collided, and he eyed Longbottom's torn clothes and battered appearance with a cocked brow.

"Malfoy," the Auror acknowledged hesitantly, using his thumb to brush away the slither of blood on his lips.

"Longbottom," Draco nodded, eyeing the man's pre-bruises and weary posture with curiosity. "Have you seen Granger?"

"She's training," he exhaled, flinching as the movement caused him pain. Draco went to move past him, but paused when Longbottom's voice caught his ear. "I really wouldn't interrupt her if I was you. She's in a foul mood-

"There's been a breakthrough on the case," he argued, but he paused as he considered the goofy wizard's state. "She did that to you?"

"Yes," he admitted with a slight blush. "Everything was fine this morning, but when she came from lunch she was on a rampage-

"Where did she go for lunch?"

"She popped home," Neville shrugged with a bit of effort. "She's in there with Castor and Jason, but don't say I didn't warn you-

"This is important," he hushed him, making his way towards the door without so much as a knock.

He entered the room with his wand clutched between his fingers, just in case he had to cast a quick _Protego. _His mind shifted to his lover's complex with Fridays, but only for a second. He wanted his conversation with Pucey to remain fresh in his head.

He could see her with her two trainees, them firing hexes at her and her blocking them and casting her own spells. The two men looked knackered and broken while she seemed driven, almost possessed. He thought about Longbottom's warning and almost decided to leave the room. But no, this was essential.

"Granger!" he called to her, taking some steps forwards.

Her training shirt was torn, and he could see the light reflecting off the sheet of sweat on her forehead. Her breathing was strained and her shoulders were sagging, but she was definitely in better shape than her apprentices.

"Granger!" he shouted again, and her head whipped round, angry eyes absorbing him.

She looked ready to fire an Unforgivable at him, but a hex whacked her shoulder and her face contorted in pain.

"Enough!" she yelled at the two weary wizards, gesturing to the blond intruder so they'd understand. "Take two minutes."

They instantly collapsed on the floor, their chests heaving, but Draco paid them no heed. It was hard to give them a moment's thought when his lover was currently storming over to him, still clutching her wounded shoulder. When she was about three feet away, he could see something odd had affected her eyes. Had she been crying?

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped. "I told you last time not to just burst in here! Are you bloody deaf or-

"Calm down," he advised, keeping his tone stern and low. "My meeting with Pucey-

"We agreed we would discus it later," she reminded him, her voice cold and possibly distressed. "I am training-

"This is important-

"It can wait until later," she insisted with a forceful growl. "I do not have time for this and you shouldn't have interrupted me-

"Stop it," he hissed at her, grabbing her wrist and clutching it a little too tightly. "Look, I don't give a fuck what your issue is with Fridays, but I have some things to tell you about the case that are significant. Stop being such a bitch."

She blinked a few times, her determined features softening slightly, but the stubbornness was still present. She was breathing out of her nose, and she glanced down to his hand on her arm with a foul look. He could see her cheeks shifting as she ground her teeth, eyes slowly coming back up to his with reluctant resignation.

"Fine," she bit out, tearing her wrist out of his grip. "I'll be in your office in ten minutes."

"Good," he said with sarcasm. "And lose the attitude, Granger. It's not attractive."

With another piercing stare, she turned on her heel, presumably to tell Castor and Jason what to do while she was out. He didn't linger to find out. Within two minutes he was sat at his desk, scribbling down the essential points of Pucey's confessions. He could hear her heavy steps as she neared his office, and he flinched when she slammed the door behind her.

"Right," she huffed, dropping roughly into her seat. "Just why the hell did you interrupt me-

"I told you to lose the attitude," he reminded her, realising her shoulder was still bleeding, a crimson shadow marring the white fabric. "Calm the hell down-

"I am calm," she protested unconvincingly. "Just get on with it, Draco."

"Pucey let slip that the letters to the old Death Eaters are trying to recruit them," he told her evenly, and he knew from the rounding of her eyes that he had her attention. "To try and convince them into joining an anti-Muggle group."

"Holy shit," Hermione gasped. "Carry on."

"Pucey said that there was a person with the _Vendetta Movement_ who he thinks is responsible," Draco continued. "The one whose name wasn't mentioned in the file you found."

"He didn't give you a name?"

"He couldn't," he explained with a small shake of his head. "He's under the Unbreakable Vow. He said the letters would be a help if you could decode them-

"I'm trying," she moaned defensively. "I just don't know what-

"He said you should think of Ancient Rome when you're decoding them," he said.

"Just Ancient Rome?" she asked, obviously perplexed. "He didn't elaborate? No? But there are so many aspects; Latin, mythology, geographical elements, all the famous scholars-

"I know what Ancient Rome was," he frowned at her, even if it was a relief to see one of her familiar brainy rants. "Granger, we could be looking at a group here. There could be more than one person involved. If this person has managed to convince people to join, then there could be a few members."

"Bloody hell," she sighed. "So there could be more than one killer?" He nodded his head. "Did he say anything else that could be useful?"

"Just that he reckons this person might be trying revive the _Vendetta Movement,_" he said, trying to get a better look at her hooded eyes. Had she been crying, or not? "And he implied that the ex-Death Eaters are killed if they refuse the invitation to join the Rebellion group."

"I see," she breathed, pursing her lips for a second. "Well, looks like your visit to Pucey was worthwhile." She offered him a weak smile. "I knew you'd do a good job."

He rested his chin against his balled fist and examined her face. The rusty rims by her eyelids gave her away; she had definitely cried at some point today. And if he had to guess by the shiny glaze of her enlarged pupils, he would say they were angry and frustrated tears. His eyes moved to her injured shoulder and he rose from his seat, moving to stand behind her.

"Let me heal your arm," he said, pushing the sodden-red material down to rub his wand over the cut. He felt her relax as the warming sensation tingled against her skin, and he subconsciously used his free hand to stroke her neck, earning him a content sigh.

"Thank you," she whispered once the gash was gone, but he remained behind her, his fingers brushing her collarbone and shoulders. "I'm trying to think what we should do next."

"You should work on the letters," he advised, moving her hair to one side. "And I'll see if I can find out anything else about the _Vendetta Movement._"

"Okay," she agreed, exhaling loudly when Draco's lips pressed against her throat. "What are you doing, Draco?"

"I ran into Longbottom before I found you," he murmured against her skin. "And he mentioned that you went home at lunch, and came back in a foul mood. 'Rampage,' I believe was the word he used."

"Since when do you talk to Neville?" she backfired, but she allowed his little kisses.

"You were fine this morning," he continued, ignoring her question, and he could feel her tense under his lips. "So what happened?"

"Nothing," she said, trying move away from him, but he wasn't allowing it. "Leave it be-

"Why don't you just tell me?" he coaxed, pecking behind her ear. "It's obvious that something gets to you on Fridays, just tell me what it is-

"No," she scowled, pushing herself up and breaking their contact. "I need to get back-

"Tell me," he demanded as she turned to face him. "I am sick of your behaviour on Fridays."

"Then I'll get out of your way," she said with a croaky tone, moving past him to head out the room. "Work on the _Vendetta Movement-_

"Just fucking tell me!" he shouted, reaching for her arm to halt her escape.

"I can't!" she yelled back, snatching her body away from him.

The frightened look on her face stopped him, and he could see the glimmer of tears that glossed her gaze. She was trembling slightly, but he'd have missed it if he wasn't watching her so closely. She was refusing to look at him, bowing her head away from his probing eyes.

"I'm not ready to tell you," she whispered, clenching her eyes closed and sucking in a comforting breath. "I'm sorry."

She looked vulnerable and agitated and it made something in his chest sink. He didn't like it. In fact, he hated that she wasn't her normal self. She was the embodiment of tenacity and conviction, and to see otherwise made him angry. And what made it worse was that he didn't know what had beaten her down.

"Is there anything I can do?" he muttered, his pride contending the words.

Her lips shivered as she forced a very false smile that didn't reach her eyes. She leaned in to rest a shadow of a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He was about to turn his head and deepen the gesture but she tore away from him and headed for the door.

"Just work on the case," she suggested, and her voice hitched mid-sentence.

He contemplated having another stab at the cause of her stress, but he bit his tongue and watched her leave. With a noise close to a groan, he went back to his desk and projected all of his concentration on the case. He needed to figure it out.

.

* * *

.

He didn't hear from Hermione for the rest of the day so he decided against visiting her at her house. Truth be murmured, his anger had brewed and swelled while he was confined in his office. He wasn't sure if he was frustrated with his lover's behaviour or if it was inability to alter it, but the rage was there anyway.

Instead, he found himself pacing his floor for hour-long minutes, muttering secret rants to himself. With a huff of decision, he grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and headed to Malfoy Manor. He charged out of the fireplace with the green flames roaring behind him and very nearly scared his mother and her friends to death.

"Draco!" Narcissa jumped, placing her palm over her chest. "What are you-

"I need to talk to you," he told her sharply, casting a furious look over to her two companions. "Alone. I'll be in the main sitting room."

He could hear his mother making her apologies as he left the room and headed to the spacey living area, dropping himself on the couch. Without having to be asked, one his mother's house-elves brought him a hefty tumbler of Firewhiskey which he greedily drank, demanding that the elf leave behind the bottle. Narcissa joined him a moment later, her face stormy as she glanced at her son.

"This had better be good, Draco," she warned him, taking a seat on a different chair. "I'm getting tired of you offending-

"Why are all women fucking insane?" he blurted accusingly at his mother. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you all?"

"What?" she scowled, but then slowly an amused look stole her face. "Does this have anything to with Hermione?"

"I knew there was a good reason I avoided relationships," he went on, rising from his seat to follow an imaginary path. "It's because you're all fucking psychos-

"Language, Draco," she scolded. "What did you do?"

"I have done nothing!" he argued, pausing his paces to shoot her a fiery look.

"So you had a fight?" Narcissa tested, trying hard to fight her amusement. It wasn't everyday her son moaned about a lovers' tiff and she was rather bemused by it.

"Yes," he confessed, cocking his head to the side. "But that's not the problem."

"Then what exactly is the problem?"

"This is your fault," he accused, frowning at her. "You encouraged this relationship-

"Yes, I forced you into it," she remarked with that flawless Malfoy sarcasm. "Did you end it-

"No," he breathed, his voice tired now. "Give me some credit. I'm not that fickle, mother."

"Good," his mother sighed. "So, what did you argue about? You're going to have to tell me more if you want my help."

"And why the bloody hell would you think I want your help?" he spat, deciding that he'd really had enough of the female species for one day.

"Why else would you be here?" she rolled her knowing eyes at him. "Just spit it out."

He sat back down on the couch, smothering a growl as he rested his elbows against his knees. He considered telling his mother to mind her own business and insist he just needed to vent, but thought better of it when she matched his defiant glare. He inhaled like the air would provide him with answers.

"Every Friday," he started reluctantly, looking away from his mother. "She acts differently. Something pisses her off and she's a bitch all day and she won't say why."

"Specifically Fridays?" she asked, receiving a small nod. "Did she act that way when you first started working together?"

"No," he shook his head. "She was no more arsey than any other day. It just randomly kicked in after a few weeks."

"That is odd," Narcissa confessed with a thoughtful face. "And you're sure you haven't done anything?"

"She was fine in the morning," Draco said, deciding not to mention that she had actually been in a rather insatiable mood when they'd woken up. "And then Longbottom said she went home at lunch, and when she came back she was angry as hell."

"And she's given you no explanation?" his mother asked.

"She said she's not ready to tell me," her son scowled, toying with the cuffs of his shirt.

"Then you will just have to wait until she's ready," Narcissa explained with a patient tone. Draco looked up at her like she had rambled in a foreign language, his mouth set into a stubborn line. "I'm sorry, Draco. She'll tell you when she can-

"But it's pissing me off," he sneered at her.

"You've only been going out about a week-

"It feels longer," he objected, pouring himself another glass of Firewhiskey.

"I suppose it does," she said with a hidden grin. "It makes sense if there's been something going on since my birthday-

"So she just won't tell me?" Draco repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "And you have no idea what it could be?"

"Sorry, son," she breathed, rising from her seat. "You'll have to wait it out."

"Fucking fantastic," he seethed through his teeth, also standing up. "I'm going home if you can't say anything useful, mother."

"Always a charmer," she smirked at him, following him to the door. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to say thank you, Draco."

"It's not worth the risk," he quipped, turning to flash her his teeth. "Have fun with those morons you call friends. I'll owl you tomorrow."

"Be patient with her," Narcissa suggested when they reached the fireplace. "Give her some space and I bet you she'll come find you tomorrow and apologise."

Draco just offered his mother an arched eyebrow before he disappeared behind the emerald embers.

.

* * *

.

When Saturday was pushing into it's twentieth hour, Draco still hadn't heard from her. Deciding to take a shower to ease the strain in his shoulders and back, his thoughts battled as he considered going to visit her. The steamy water calmed his body, but his head was roaring with thoughts of how he should handle Hermione's anxiety with Fridays.

He slung a towel around his waist, still unsure if he could forfeit an ounce of his dignity to visit her first. His pride had certainly taken a hammering since she had shoved her way into his life. What harm could one more splinter in his ego cause? It didn't matter anyway, because she was waiting on his bed when he entered his room.

"Hi," she muttered, nervously toying with her fingers as she eyed his bare chest. "I probably should have let you know I was coming over."

"You should have," he agreed.

He grabbed a pair of boxers and tossed his towel to the side, indifferent to his nudity in front of her. He had a feeling she was blushing, but he didn't care. When he was done he turned back to her, arms folded across his chest and an expectant look on his face.

"Well?" he prompted, noting her fidgety posture.

"I owe you an apology," she said, keeping eye-contact with him. "I was out of order yesterday. I shouldn't take out my frustration on you-

"No, you shouldn't," he replied stiffly. "You were a bloody bitch."

"I know I was," she nodded, leaving the bed and taking a stride towards him. "I'm sorry."

He exhaled, his breath shifting some of her hairs. She paused in front of him, barely an inch away, and then her unsure hands slowly settled on his water-speckled chest. She offered him a doubtful smile before she rested on the tips of her toes to push a little kiss against his lips.

He resisted for all of five seconds before he accepted the affection, allowing her to deepen it with bold sucks at his tongue. A delicate moan fell from her mouth into his, and his hands went to her waist, dragging her closer to him. She pulled away, but kept her lips close to his, almost touching but not quite.

"I will explain soon," she whispered, running her index finger along his jawbone. "I just need a bit more time-

"Alright," he stopped her, pecking her lips quickly. "Just don't turn into a cow. I don't care if you have to lock yourself in a dark room. I don't want to deal with it."

"That's fair," she graced him with a small smile. "Thank you. Would a back massage soften you up a bit?"

"You can give it a go," he smirked, flicking one of her buttons to come undone. "Removing some of your clothes might help too."

With a small chuckle, she stripped down to her navy bra and knickers while he settled on the bed. She straddled his waist and started soothing his back with nimble fingers, coaxing a few dulcet sighs and groans from him.

"There's something else I need to tell you," she said when she was convinced he was calm enough. "And I'm not sure if it's good news or bad news-

"Get on with it," he mumbled against his pillow. "You're putting a downer on my massage."

"I went to Ginny's last night," she started anxiously. "And she told me that Ron would be back in London a week Monday." She felt his muscles stiffen beneath her fingertips. "And I'm going to tell him about us."

She expected him to have the Malfoy equivalent to a tantrum and mutter a string of swear words, or perhaps start hexing random objects. She held her breath, waiting for a reaction, and was surprised to note that his back relaxed under her palms.

"About bloody time," he said after his pause. "I'm getting sick of eating in Muggle restaurants."

"You're okay with this?" she asked.

"I'll just be glad to get it over with," he commented, moving his head so he could glance at her over his shoulder. "Unless you're expecting me to be there, in which case, I have a problem with it. I don't want your jealous ex near me on a normal day, let alone when you tell him we're fucking."

"He won't be jealous, he's just protective," she argued, rubbing steady circles along his spine. "And I think I can safely say that your presence wouldn't be beneficial. I'll deal with it myself."

"Good," he half-groaned when her hands hit a sensitive spot. "Just don't tell him where I live. The thought of Weasley in my house makes me feel sick. And don't think I won't hex him if he turns into a prick."

"Draco," she scolded, but it was half-hearted. "Please don't make this any more difficult than it's going to be-

"Fine," he rolled his eyes. "But just so you know, I'm choosing what restaurants we go to for the next month, and they're all going to be Wizard haunts."

"That's fair," she laughed a little, leaning forward to nestle a kiss between his shoulder-blades. "And do you promise to behave if you do see Ron?"

A chuckle rumbled in his throat.

"You'll be lucky, Granger."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Mega thanks to the 140+ people who have put me on alert and the 75+ people who have me on their favourites. It's a pleasure to know this is being read.

Let me know what you think of the chapter. Opinions and reviews are reread in the early hours of the morning to bring a smile to my face! Plus I updated extra quick to make up for the lateness of the last chapter. Show some love for the quick update! No...?

Best review of the last chapter has to go to **lovelydove21**! Thank you kindly for your thoughts on some of my phrases! I quite liked the guilt one too! I love it when reviewers say which specific details they enjoyed/didn't enjoy, so thanks for your time and wonderful words!

Next chapter: Enter Ron Weasley.

Bex-chan

_Disclaimer: All chapters associated with this fic 'Hunted' _still_ don't own any of the characters or themes etc. The plot is mine. That's about it. All hail Rowling...even if she didn't have the sense to make Draco and Hermione a couple..._


	21. Red

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 21: Red.

.

On the Sunday morning, Hermione was leaning her head against her lover's raised knee while he lounged back on his elbows. After two successful 'apology blowjobs,' as she still felt a little guilty about their argument on Friday, she was admiring the distant look in his eyes while his bliss subsided.

They were both bare, and dotted with little beads of sweat. His chest was heaving slightly after her mouth had made him come undone the second time, and she watched him with a bizarre fascination. She rested her chin on his knee and tickled the inside of his thigh, content to bask in the post-coital silence. After a few minutes, she noticed the relaxed lines of his face become concentrated, almost troubled.

"What is it?" she questioned, her voice husky with the morning. "Oh Merlin, I didn't catch you with my teeth, did I?"

He chuckled deep in his throat, and leaned forward just to push her sweat-damp hair away from her face. "No, Granger," he mumbled. "You were very impressive."

"Then, what's wrong?" she asked, teeth darting out just to worry her bottom lip.

"Something Pucey said," he offered.

"How charming," she flashed him a mocking grin. "You are thinking about Pucey just after I've finished doing that?"

"I don't like that insinuation," he warned. "I can assure you my mind was on appropriate things when you were sucking my dick-

"Draco-

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he frowned, leaning back on his elbows. "He told me I wouldn't be hunted like Goyle and the others. He said my position at the Ministry meant that I wasn't suitable for recruitment, and therefore the killer wouldn't be interested in me."

"That's good news," she said, her face confused. "But you don't seem too happy about it?"

"I have no idea how you're supposed to take something like that," he shrugged, taking a moment just to admire her nudity. Merlin knew when her desire for modesty would kick in. "How would you react to that news?"

"I think I'd be chuffed," she smiled at him, removing her head from his leg. "And I am frankly relieved that you might not be a target."

"He also mentioned," Draco started with uncertainty, his lips twitching. "That Rebellion groups see you as quite the prize."

"And you're surprised by that?"

"Not surprised," he murmured, watching her as she left the space between his legs and crawled to his side, tugging one of his sheets to cover herself. Bloody modesty. "It was just a bit...unsettling to hear it being said."

"But you monitored the ex-Death Eaters," she frowned at him. "And I know you had experience with some Rebellion groups. Surely some of them mentioned revenge on Harry, Ron and I."

"I wasn't shagging you then," he remarked, giving her a quick smirk.

"Honestly," she sighed, eyeing him impatiently. "Would it kill you to say 'we weren't in a relationship then?'"

"Will you hurt me if I say yes?" he quipped, watching her curls bounce when she nodded her head. "I'll try harder next time, Granger."

"Sure you will," she rolled her eyes. "We should do some work."

.

* * *

.

The following Sunday found Hermione lounging around on Draco's bed again, fully dressed and surrounded by a desert of parchments and books. Clad in a loose t-shirt and some battered jeans, she was analysing the letters again, reading all the books she could get her hands on with references to Ancient Rome.

She wasn't alone either. No, she was currently sharing Draco's bed with a certain ginger companion as she tried to gather all her intellectual wits about her. She gave the redhead an affectionate nuzzle when her blond lover appeared in the doorway.

"Get that fucking cat off my bed, Granger," he scowled, placing two mugs of tea on his bedside table. "I refuse to wake up with sodding fleabites all over me."

"Crookshanks doesn't have fleas," she protested, but she placed her pet on the floor anyway.

"Any luck?" he asked, gesturing to the letters.

"I am currently reading a three-thousand-page book on Cicero," she murmured, showing him the cover for emphasis. "How do you think it's going?"

"I've had no luck either," he commented, taking a seat next to her on the bed. "There really isn't much to work on."

"There were too many Rebellion groups," she sighed, rubbing her weary eyes. "The paperwork was probably difficult to keep up with. What are you hoping to find?"

"Some kind of hint about who that missing name is," he told her.

"Perhaps you should give Pucey another visit?"

"He told me all he could," Draco shook his head. "Another visit wouldn't be productive. I'm wondering if Warrington might have found anything else. Did you sort out those items for his fiancé?"

"Yes, they're done," she nodded, and with a huff of frustration she slammed her book closed. "None of this is working! You're certain he said Ancient Rome?"

"Positive," he nodded. "Just take a break for two minutes, Granger. Don't give yourself a hernia."

"Fine," she said, taking a gulp of her tea. "I guess it's probably not helping that I'm nervous."

"About what?"

"What do you mean 'about what?'" she shot him an agitated look. "Ron's back in London tomorrow. How could you forget that?"

"If you think I would let myself worry about a Weasley," he said with a cocky tone, moving to sit behind her and framing her with his legs. "Then you really don't know me that well, Granger."

"Fair point," she breathed, settling her back against his chest. "But you could at least to pretend to be supportive considering I really am nervous."

"I don't pretend," he whispered against her ear, his tongue catching her lobe. His hands moved under her top and fiddled with the hem of her jeans. "And as far as being supportive goes, I'm willing to offer you a distraction-

"I'm sure you would," she chuckled, stopping his roaming hands. "But I don't want to be distracted from it just now, I want to plan what I'll say-

"Of course you do," he groaned. "Carry on with your rant then."

"Well I have no idea what to say to him," she said, raking a hand through her brunette waves. "I don't know where to begin explaining this to Ron-

"I reckon you should just spit it out," he offered, exhaling against her neck. "I doubt there's any way you could soften the blow."

"Perhaps you're right," she sighed, tilting her head to give him more skin. "Perhaps I should just blurt out the fact that I've been shagging the person he hated most in Hogwarts."

"I thought we weren't allowed to call it that," Draco reminded her with a slight nudge. "You made it pretty clear that you wanted to use that bloody 'relationship' word-

"I'm not sure which would bother him more," she confessed, running her fingertips up and down his legs. "If it was just sex or a relationship-

"You'd better tell him it's a relationship, Hermione," he told her, and she was surprised by his remark. "I don't want him thinking he has any chance to work his way back in. I want him to know that, well, fuck, you know what I mean."

"I think so," she grinned at his words, or lack thereof. "I wouldn't have lied to him anyway."

"It will come to you," he assured her, pushing his hands past the edge of her jeans. "I'm going to shag you now, Granger."

"I need to get on with this work," she protested, but it was weak. His fingers had already found her bulb and it always felt too delicious to resist.

"Later," he insisted, knowing he had won. He flicked his wand to close the door as he harassed her neck with his teeth. "I refuse to have your sodding cat interrupting again."

.

* * *

.

Merlin knew why he didn't just tell her to levitate her bloody ton of books. No, instead he found himself juggling six of the weighty texts as they wandered to his office. It was times like this he really hated chivalry.

"Bugger this," he muttered, somehow managing to flick his wand so the books were floating next to him. The four books she had been carrying joined the small pile and she gave him a light frown.

"We're only two minutes away from your office," she said.

"Don't care," he replied. "I'm a wizard, hence I shall use magic."

She didn't say anything, just gave him another disapproving glare as they entered his room. Both of them instantly tore into their work, occasionally discussing the relevance of certain factors between themselves. Goyle's wards were still a concern for Hermione, and she requested that Draco try and create a list of people who Goyle would have allowed into his home. The Malfoy heir didn't have a clue.

So he stuck to his research on the _Vendetta Movement, _and she stuck to her attempts at decoding the letters, occasionally heading out to grab another book. After drowning herself in pages of Seneca, Catullus, Virgil and tales of the Numina, she was starting to get a throbbing headache. She glanced up and found one of those smug smirks waltzing on Draco's lips.

"You found something?" she questioned, pausing to eye him sceptically.

"No," he said simply, scribbling down a quick note.

"Then why the grin?"

"I was recalling something," he explained vaguely, flashing her a cocky look.

"I hate it when you do that," she commented, discarding her work for the moment. "Care to elaborate, please?"

"We're working," he pointed out. "I'll tell you after-

"Tell me now," she requested in an almost-whine. "I need a break from bloody Rome before I lose my mind."

"Alright," his grin widened a little, his eyes heavy with amusement. "I was actually thinking of that little trick you did last night. You are full surprises, Granger."

"What trick?" she asked, but then a delightful flashback rattled her mind and stirred a blush. "Oh, you mean that-

"Yes," he confirmed, giving her a long stare. "Your little attempt at acrobatics." His face turned agitated for a moment. "Don't tell me Weasley taught you-

"Draco, don't be an idiot!" she scolded, knowing her cheeks were tinted a rosy hue. "I read about it in a magazine a few days ago. It's called the 'Arch.'"

"Seems appropriate," he nodded, his grin back in place. "And we were all fooled by the bookworm image at Hogwarts."

"I think it's still evident," she smiled, gesturing at the pile of books on the desk. "That I am very much a bookworm."

"I was right about one thing at Hogwarts though, Granger," he drawled, watching her too closely to notice the door to his office had opened. "You always were filthy."

"What did you just call her?"

Hermione's laugh at her lover's quip wilted in her throat.

Her head snapped around to view her fiery ex-boyfriend, whose angry eyes were fixed on Draco. A part of her was ready to curse fate for letting Ron walk in at that specific point in time, but another part of her was relieved he hadn't burst in before. Merlin knew how she would explain her and Draco discussing preferred sex positions.

"You just called her filthy!" Ron ranted on, walking further into the office. "I knew it was all bullshit that you had changed-

"Ron," Hermione stopped him, rising from her chair and pushing against his chest. "It was just a joke, calm down-

"I'd do as she says, Weasley," Draco spoke up, sounding every inch the patronising git he could be. "I'd hate to have to put you in your place-

"Shut up, Malfoy," the redhead spat, sending the blond cold glares over her shoulder. "Or I swear I will-

"That's enough," Hermione demanded, giving her friend a warning slap against his chest. "Both of you stop being so bloody childish. What are you doing here?"

"And why the fuck didn't you knock-

"Stop it, Draco," she scolded over her shoulder, feeling her friend push against her palms. "What do you want, Ron?"

"I came to take you to lunch," he explained as though it was obvious. "Can you?"

"Um, yes," she stuttered, pushing Ron towards the door. "Can you wait by the stairs and I'll be out in a minute please? I just need to clean up my files."

"Okay," he agreed hesitantly, shooting Malfoy another dark glare that reminded her of their quarrels in Hogwarts.

"Always a pleasure, Weasley," Draco called, flashing a gloating smirk at the other wizard.

Hermione could see the insult bubbling in her friend's throat and quickly shoved him out of the office before it was released. She turned back to her grinning lover with an irritated expression, flicking her wand to organise her side of the desk.

"Great start," she commented, her voice laden with sarcasm. "Did you have to goad him?"

"It's an instinct," he shrugged, leaving his seat to near her. "You're actually going to lunch with him? I'm surprised you can keep you food down with _that_ sitting opposite you-

"Please, stop," she whispered, and it was only due to the desperation in her tone that he did. "You're making this harder for me-

"Alright, I'll stop," he nodded, reaching up to run his finger across her lower lip. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"No," she mumbled, pecking her lips against his thumb. "Could you just be here when I get back, please? I will probably need someone to vent to."

"Joy," he rolled his eyes. "But yes, I'll be here."

"Thank you," she forced a smile, leaning in for a quick kiss.

.

* * *

.

Ron let her chose where they could grab a bite to eat, so she decided on _The Leaky Cauldron _for two reasons. One; she enjoyed reminiscing there with Harry and Ron as they had spent time there when they were younger. And two; it was normally quite busy at this time of day, and she hoped the promised amount of customers would ensure that Ron wouldn't cause a scene. Hope, being the key word.

He grabbed them two butterbeers from the bar and ordered some food while she found a space amongst the rowdy patrons. They settled at one of the tables with more awkwardness than Hermione had ever thought could possibly exist between them. She knew it was her fault as her mind was distracted with the task at hand, but he seemed ignorant to it anyway.

A quick glance around the pub told her it was indeed rather full, and she noticed some familiar faces. Her troubled eyes lingered on two _Daily Prophet _reporters, before shifting to some nameless colleagues from the Ministry. Even Padma Patil was present, dining with some of her fellow journalists from _Witch Weekly. _

_So, half of Gossip London then. Great._

"You look good," he told her, his eyes innocent and oblivious. "Really good, actually. I haven't seen you in ages."

"Nearly four months," she sighed, quickly adding up the weeks in her head.

"It feels longer than that," he said thoughtfully, nodding a quick hello to Padma. "How have you been?"

"Good," she replied honestly. Consistent sex had a habit of perking one up. "And you?"

"Brilliant," he beamed, and she hated that she would shatter that smile in a matter of minutes. "Working with Charlie and the Dragons is bloody exciting! I do miss London though. I've been talking with George about coming back and working at the shop from a while."

"That would be great," she grinned, and she meant it. "Harry and I miss you. And I've barely seen Harry these last few months."

"Ginny mentioned he's been away trying to track your guy," he commented as their food arrived. "How's that going by the way? You getting close?"

"Progress is slow," she frowned, playing with the vegetables on her plate. Her appetite was fleeing, alongside her courage. _Spit it out._ "Ron, I need to-

"I'm sure you'll find something soon," he assured her, missing the change in her tone. "If anyone can figure it out, it's you. Brightest witch of our age, and all that."

"Sure," she shrugged, licking her lips. _Get it done._ "Look, Ron-

"Give yourself some credit, 'Mione," he said with easy fondness. "You know how clever you are. Have you been doing anything else?"

_Draco Malfoy..._

"Not really," she muttered, pushing her barely-touched plate aside. "The case has kept us pretty occupied. But I need-

"I'm not sure why Malfoy was chosen to help you," the redhead remarked, his expression turning sour. "I find it hard to believe he could be useful for anything-

"He's very good, actually," she defended her secret, hoping she didn't sound too snappy. "He's extremely intelligent. Anyway, Ron-

"Well I couldn't work with him," he mumbled over a mouth of mashed potatoes. "Doesn't his attitude get on your nerves-

"Ron-

"And I really don't buy all that crap about him changing," her friend ranted, just like he always did when Draco was the topic. "Surely he's slipped up and called you something-

"No," she scowled, massaging her temple. This was hell. "Not once. But-

"I bet you've argued a lot," he mused, his voice sounding concerned. "Are you sure everything's okay with him? You would tell me-

"Of course I would tell you," she groaned. _Just get it over with. _

"Good," he said, shovelling some more vegetables into his mouth. "Because you know it would only take a quick word from Harry to have him sacked-

"Ron," she breathed, noting her tone was loud with desperation. "Please-

"And I'm sure you could work with someone else from his department," he continued, failing to notice the scrunching of her face. "Someone who isn't a selfish prick-

"Ron, Draco and I are a couple."

She'd said it so fast it had sounded like a sordid song.

She couldn't look at him. Wouldn't _dare _look at him. She heard his fork clatter against his plate and the quick intake of breath, but only silence followed. The boisterous crowd around them seemed to dull and Hermione concentrated to grasp their shared words, but it was pointless. She was waiting for his reaction, and until it came, her brain had deemed all other sounds irrelevant.

"You're joking," he muttered, his voice confused and cracked. "You must-

"I'm completely serious," she told him, catching his wide eyes. She was tempted to look away, but no. She needed him to know she was being honest.

"What?" his tone almost sounded frightened. "'Mione this isn't funny. There's no way-

"Draco Malfoy and I are in a relationship," she said with an even voice. "We are-

Ron saw red.

" NO!" he shouted, angry lines stealing his face. She'd been wrong; clearly her friend had no problem with causing a scene. "No. No fucking way-

"I wasn't asking your permission," she sighed, having a quick look around to see if anyone was listening. No, there were no eavesdroppers. Yet. "You're going to have to come to terms with my decision-

"Like hell I am," he spat, and the hate in his eyes hurt her. "Are you completely insane, 'Mione? Have you forgotten what he did to you at Hogwarts-

"Not forgotten," she confessed. "But forgiven-

"What?" he snapped, his voice loud. "How could you possibly like him? How could you possibly stand that bastard-

"Well, I do," she interrupted, trying so hard to remain calm. "I know this is a bit of a shock and I knew you'd be angry-

"It's disgusting," he hissed at her. "How could you?"

"How could I?" Hermione repeated with a shocked tone. "This has nothing to do with you, Ron. This isn't some plot to offend you. I like him-

"Do you love him?" he said the words with a heavy grimace.

"Don't be ridiculous-

"Then why are you willing to risk our friendship for this?" he asked, his voice getting louder. "If this isn't serious then how could you even-

"I didn't say it wasn't serious!" she argued, feeling her own temper rise. "You can't expect me to-

"HOW LONG?" he near-screamed, impatiently punching the table like a spoilt child.

"What?" she sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. There would definitely be people staring now, and she could hear the low thunder of confused mumbles around them.

"How long has it been going on?" he growled, and she flinched at the harshness of the sound. It really didn't suit him. She quickly did the calculations in her head, deciding that something had been going on since their kiss at Malfoy Manor.

_Right, Narcissa's birthday was at the beginning of October so-_

"Answer the question!"

"A month," she muttered quickly, but then thought better of it. "No, longer than a month-

"How much longer?" he hissed, and she actually felt a small spatter of spit against her face. He was leaning so close to her, his eyes wild and turbulent like a bull's at the red cape.

"Almost six weeks," she murmured, and she could practically feel him vibrating with rage. "But I-

"End it," Ron demanded steadily, and she gasped. "End it now-

"NO!" she yelled, slamming her palms against their table. "How dare you! You have no right to tell me what to do-

"What you're doing is wrong!" he snapped. "And you know it is too, or you wouldn't have kept it a secret for so long-

"I kept it a secret because I wanted to tell you before anyone else," she explained, daring a quick glance at Padma and the other journalists. She could almost hear their quills scratching exaggerated accounts of this and she despised them all. "And you've been out the country-

"Does Harry know?"

"No," she shook her head, their voices at a normal volume for the moment. "I was going to see if I could meet him this weekend to explain-

"Don't bother," he said, his voice so icy it threw her. "I'll owl him later-

"I'd rather tell him myself-

"No," he scowled, his words pushing past his grinding teeth. "You don't get to keep this sick secret any more. Does anyone know?"

"Just Draco's mum," she admitted, cringing at his outraged look. "But she-

"This is ridiculous," he glowered at her, rising from his chair to lean over her. "End it now, 'Mione-

"You're supposed to be my friend," she whispered, feeling the heat of angry tears biting her eyes. "You should trust my judgement-

"Don't you dare try and make me out to be the bad friend!" he growled, bring his face close to hers. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Everyone was listening to them now, she could tell by the surrounding quiet, and she was mortified. She could only imagine what this looked like. Two famous ex-lovers quarrelling in a public space, him leaning into her with fiery insults. She was just grateful Ron hadn't screamed Draco's name yet as she was pretty certain the small collection of reporters would have a combined orgasm if that little gem was blurted. Yes, _The Leaky Cauldron _had definitely been a poor choice.

"I was thinking," Hermione started carefully, keeping her voice as quiet as she could. "That it's almost been five years since the War, and that you might have gotten over your childhood squabbles by now-

"You hated him just as much as the rest of us," he reminded her. "What's changed?"

"I grew up," she stated, straightening her back. "He's a good man-

"It's Draco fucking Malfoy!"

The gasp that echoed in the time-battered pub made Hermione close her eyes, and one of those lingering tears spilled over her lashes. That was it. There was her secret, crudely exclaimed to strangers and the parasites of the press. Why the hell hadn't she cast a silencing charm before she had told him? Had she really been naïve enough to think he wouldn't have screamed at her? Yes, she had thought the crowd would be a deterrent, and she had been very wrong.

"Ron, please," she breathed, aware that their entire conversation could very well be in the _Prophet _tomorrow. "Calm down-

"No!" he stopped her, slamming his fists against the table again. "How could you be so bloody stupid?"

That caught her attention. She had been called many things in her life; stubborn, insufferable, nerdy, _Mudblood_, but no one had ever called her stupid. To question her intelligence was to insult her very existence. And here her best friend was, daring to call her stupid, and it infuriated her. She rose from her seat, matching his intimidating posture as best she could.

"Don't you dare call me stupid!" she barked, uncaring of the people surrounding them now. "I am not ashamed of my decision. Unlike you, I am willing to move on-

"I bet that Malfoy fortune helps-

"Fuck you," she said slowly, satisfied with the surprised expression that stole his face. "I don't have to defend myself to you, Ron! We are in a relationship. End of story. Deal with it!"

Screw it; she was bloody enraged.

"I don't understand!" he told her, combing his shaking fingers through his red hair. "What could you possibly see in him?"

"What do you want?" she sneered at him, a sneer that any Slytherin would be proud of. "A list of his best points?"

"Let me guess!" he screamed, and she nearly flinched at his volume. "Ex-Death Eater, racist bully, family members who tortured you! Have I missed anything?"

"Well, the sex is bloody good, how's that for a positive?" she taunted, folding her arms across her chest and sporting a haughty expression. She didn't care when another stunned gasp reverberated off the aching walls of _The Leaky Cauldron. _Ron looked a whisper away from either strangling her or having an embolism.

"You are sick," he told her, gathering his belongings and moving away from their table. "You have completely lost the plot-

"Where the hell are you going?" she questioned, her fiery stare following his movements. "Don't you dare leave, Ronald! We are not finished here-

"I can't look at you right now," he said, his voice scratchy and ominous.

Her mouth moved with silent words as he disappeared out the door, two of thereporters following him. In a heartbeat, Padma was at her side, along with remaining journalists she had spotted earlier. She remained still for a few seconds, like a beautiful yet tragic statue, but their insistent questions hounded her ears and brought her back to the lonely pub. She needed to leave. She pushed aside Padma, refusing to utter a single word as they continued to harass her with questions.

"_...How long has this been going on?"_

"_...Will you be releasing an official statement?"_

"_...Has your relationship with Mr. Malfoy effected your work on the case?"_

She shoved her way through the nosy obstacles, relieved when the hefty barman tried to help her, guiding her towards one of the private rooms. Slamming the door behind him, he simply pointed to the fireplace, muttering some locking charms and keeping his wand on the door. She very nearly kissed the man for his kind actions, but decided that a sincere _thank you_ was more appropriate, and remembered to owl him a massive tip.

Stumbling out of the Ministry's Floo Network, she sprinted to Draco's office, ignoring the strange looks she was receiving from the witches and wizards around her. The reporters would be at the Ministry soon and she needed to get somewhere safe. She didn't even pay attention to Tilly's warm smile, just shouldered open the office door and leaned against it, locking eyes with her lover.

"It went well, I take?" he said, his voice sweet with mirth. He eyed her ruffled clothing and mussed hair with a twitch of amusement, unable to stop his ill-timed smirk.

"I'm not in the mood for your sarcasm, Draco," she warned him, adamant that she wasn't going to cry in front of him. She slowly walked to her chair, chewing her lip. "Everyone knows."

"Who's everyone?" he asked, rising from his seat to near her.

"The press," she sighed, her breath wavering slightly. "I thought if I told Ron somewhere crowded he wouldn't shout at me, but I was very wrong. There were journalists there-

"And you're concerned about this?" he questioned, sitting on the desk in front of her.

"Of course I am-

"Well, don't be," he told her, reaching out to brush aside some of her unruly curls. "The press would have found out eventually. Just think of that Muggle phrase you always say. Two birds and one brick, or something?"

"One stone," she corrected, catching his hand and running her thumb over his knuckles. "I underestimated Ron's reaction. He was horrible-

"He'll calm down," Draco shrugged, watching while her fingers played with the creases of his palm. "The worst is over, Granger."

It was hard not to be calmed by his logic and aloof attitude. She forced a small grin on her lips and leaned forward to peck a kiss against his mouth, giving a small gasp when he hauled her up and initiated a more passionate exchange. She allowed him to absorb her, stealing all her concerns and insecurities for the brief moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he pulled away. "Or do you want me to pay Weasley a little visit?"

"Not funny," she mumbled, nuzzling his chest. "But thank you. I feel a bit better. I'm just worried about what they're going to put in the paper."

"What exactly did they hear?" he asked, subconsciously stroking her arms.

"I'm not sure," she sighed. "It's all a bit of a blur now. I guess we'll see tomorrow."

"Okay," he nodded, pushing her away from him and giving her a strict stare. "In the meantime, we have more important things to worry about than some sad little reporters. You need to work on those letters."

"I do," she agreed, and he grinned when her features hardened with determination. "You're right. I said we shouldn't let anything affect our work-

"Especially not a Weasley."

They'd had to wait until eight o'clock to leave the Ministry and successfully avoid the press. Draco had managed to convince Tilly to tell anyone who asked that they weren't in the office, but the reporters had still lingered. Draco had instantly closed his Floo but sent an owl to his mother to explain everything and ask Skeeter for some damage control.

.

* * *

.

At seven o'clock on the Tuesday morning, Hermione was nervously fidgeting between Draco's duvet and sheets. They had just heard the usual tapping against the downstairs window, signalling the arrival of a_ Daily Prophet _owl, and Draco had gone to retrieve the newspaper. She could hear her lover's movements downstairs and she willed him to hurry, taking deep breaths to calm the frantic thuds in her chest. Finally, she heard his footfalls returning up the stairs and the faint rustling of paper.

"Well?" she asked as his shape appeared in the doorframe.

"We made the front page," he smirked at her, deciding to ignore her agitated look. "And then we have a delightful spread on pages four to seven-

"This isn't funny, Draco," she scolded. "What does it say?"

"They ramble on about our lives at Hogwarts for a little," he explained, skimming over the paragraphs with an amused expression. "How we hated each other and all that. Then there's a bit about the War, ah, here we go; your argument with Weasley."

"What does it say?" she repeated, frowning when he arched one of his eyebrows and looked up at her with a sceptical glance. "What?"

"Granger," he started slowly, his grey eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. "Did you tell Weasley that I was good in bed?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth lost its hinges.

"Possibly," she muttered once the initial shock had passed.

"Excellent," he chuckled, settling on the bed so she could read it for herself. "I would have paid good money to see Weasley's face when you told him that-

"Oh, God," she breathed, fixing him with a horrified look. "Will your mother read this?"

"Everyone will read this," he rolled his eyes at her, throwing his casual arms around her waist. "Stop worrying so much-

"Could you stop finding this so funny?" she frowned, eyeing the magical pictures of her and Ron arguing. "Do you realise how awful work is going to be today? They're all going to be there, and they're all going to want answers-

"And we'll deal with it appropriately," he assured the witch, nipping at her spine. "In the meantime, just concentrate on decoding the letters. It's been a while since Flint's murder and I have a feeling something will happen soon."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Whoa...Long chapter! Hmmm...I hope Ron was okay. I found it harder than I thought, especially as I don't want him hated; I just wanted him to be angry, so hopefully that came across. Hope that Hermione and Draco are also still in character. Let me know what you think! This will not be a Ron-bashing fic by the way!

Review of the last chapter has to go to **Jessica** for her compliments and constructive criticism! Thank you very much for your thoughts and I'm glad you think my characters are realistic and I will definitely take a closer look at my spelling!

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far...I had a celebratory glass of wine when I reached 250 reviews about ten minutes ago! Close to the 100 favourite mark too...May crack out some champers for that one!

Next chapter: Draco has a bit of a shock when he finally figures out Hermione's complex with Fridays, and Hermione had some success with those pesky letters and gets a little shock of her own...

Read and Review please...they make me celebrate with wine...and I think we've established that wine makes me update faster...think about it!

Bex-chan


	22. Letters

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 22: Letters.

.

Hermione wanted to get to work before Draco, deciding she needed to have a word with Shacklebolt to explain why there was a horde of journalists in his lobby. It had taken her and her lover twenty minutes and a combined knowledge of glamour charms to fix her with a suitable disguise. Her hair was now straight and black, and her skin was paler, almost as ashen as Draco's. After covering some of her face with a thick pair of glasses, she'd decided that there was little else she could do.

"Are you going to disguise yourself?" she asked Draco before she Flooed to the Ministry.

"No," he shook his head. "This is hardly the first time I've had to deal with bad press, Granger. I know how to handle it."

"Are you sure?" she asked, checking her unfamiliar reflection once more and noting she looked a bit like Harry's would-be sister. "I know you love to gloat, Draco. And you don't have the best temper-

"I know what I'm doing," he insisted as she palmed the Floo powder. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Okay," she nodded. She leaned forward to peck a farewell kiss against his lips, but he avoided her attempt at affection and she frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

"You look different," he reminded her, gesturing to the spectacles. "It's bloody strange."

"The glasses remind you of Harry, don't they?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

"Now they do," he growled, taking a step away from her. "If you ever wear those after today, I'll never be able to get an erection again."

"Don't be so melodramatic," she rolled her eyes at him, stepping into his fireplace. "I'll meet you at the office in an hour or so. And don't say anything stupid."

Apparently her magical mask proved rather effective because she didn't receive a second glance from the swarm of reporters. They were stopping her random colleagues and asking if they were prepared to comment on her and Draco's relationship, and she was relieved to note that most people had declined.

She headed straight for Shacklebolt's office, mumbling a quick _Finite _once she was far enough away from the nosy writers. Fortunately for Hermione, being a War hero had its benefits and she was one of a selected few to know the password to Kingsley's room. Ensuring she was alone, she uttered the word _concordis _to the Lynx statue, and the tall doors parted_. _

If he was surprised by her visit, he never showed it; nor did he give any indication that he was affected by the news of her involvement with Draco. It was refreshing and unsettling all at once, and she felt like she was being lulled with false comforts when he warmly gestured for her to take a seat.

"Miss Granger," he greeted as he finished signing some documents. "You're early today. I expected you to visit a little later."

"You were expecting me?" she repeated, taking the chair opposite him.

"I was," he nodded, his smiling eyes twinkling with knowledge. "What can I do for you, Hermione?"

"If you were expecting me," she started carefully, nervously toying with her hands in her lap. "Then you must know why I'm here."

"Enlighten me," he said calmly, and she paused to collect her fractured vocabulary.

"I owe you an apology," she explained, anxiously pushing her hair out of her face. Kingsley looked confused by her statement, watching her with wise eyes that sparkled against his dark complexion. He considered her carefully in that paternally charming way that Dumbledore had often looked at her.

"Why would you owe me an apology, Hermione?" he asked.

"For all the havoc the press are causing in the Atrium," she sighed, earning herself a light laugh from the older wizard.

"That's good," he grinned, leaning back in his elaborate chair. "For a second there, I thought you might have been apologising for your involvement with Mr. Malfoy, and there's really no need for that."

"I'm sorry for keeping it a secret," she said honestly, nipping at her lower lip. "And I'm sorry about the attention its received. But no, I'm not sorry about my relationship with Draco."

"Nor would I expect you to be," he advised, giving her a secret wink. "You are certainly not the first person to have a romantic relationship with a colleague here, and you won't be the last. So long as you both remain professional, I fail to see an issue. And I think I can safely say you are mature enough to ensure that your work isn't effected."

"Of course," she nodded, allowing herself a relieved smile. "Thank you, Kingsley. You have been more...accepting that most."

"I imagine more people will be accepting than you think," he told her with addictive confidence. "I'm sure that certain friends of yours may react unfavourably at first, but it will pass. Surprises have a tendency to alter people, but it's only temporary. In the meantime, I'm sure you have friends that won't be affected by your news. It will all be fine. There's always a calm _after_ the storm too."

"I hope you're right," she frowned, clearing her throat when she realised she sounded far too wistful for her liking. "Is there anything I can do to help with the press?"

"I wouldn't worry yourself, Hermione," he suggested with a nonchalant wave. "The Ministry constantly has issues with the papers and we have appropriate methods to deal with it. I would recommend you say the bare minimum and just wait until something more interesting takes their fancy."

"Draco said he was going to talk to them this morning," she explained with concerned features. "Do you think I should tell him not to?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought but his face remained kind and contemplative. It was had not to feel comforted and calmed in the man's presence, especially since she had known him almost ten years and he had been nothing but a competent ally and friend.

"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy knows what he's doing," he concluded with a slight shrug. "But if either of you feel the need to discus this further, you know where I am."

"Thank you, Kingsley," she said quietly, deciding that today was already notably better than yesterday.

"On a more serious note," he continued, his voice now polished. "How is the case coming?"

"There's been an a few developments," she said. "We've managed to link the murders with an anti-Muggle group from a few years ago. I have Harry and Terry watching a few possible suspects and we're working on some other things too. I'm currently trying to break the codes on the letters."

"Interesting," he mumbled, giving her an impressed look. "Do you think you're close?"

"Closer," she offered with a slight grimace. "I'm sorry that things are moving slow-

"I'm sure you're doing the best you can," he stopped her with a knowing look. "I've seen your notes and I can tell how much of your own time you've put into this. I have no doubt you'll decode the letters soon. You were always brilliant in that area."

"Well let's hope so," she breathed, leaving her chair. "I should do some work. Thank you for being so understanding, Kingsley."

"Of course," he promised with another relaxed smile. "Good luck with the case, Hermione. And with Mr. Malfoy for that matter."

.

* * *

.

Kingsley's accepting nature was like adrenaline; motivational and refreshing. It made her feel encouraged and enlightened, and even though her fingers were trembling slightly, she wrote the letter to Harry with an energized pace. She apologised for keeping her and Draco a secret; apologised that he had probably found out from Ron, and apologised again for not explaining this to his face.

She did not, however, apologise for her actual relationship with Draco.

She refused.

And she certainly wasn't sorry for feeling happy with her decision.

She nervously left the parchment with Tilly, asking her to owl it to her best friend when she had a spare moment. After several deep breaths and a nod of clarity to herself, she withdrew the letters from her bag and read over the jumbled symbols and letters, selecting a text on Manilius to find inspiration. It was almost twenty-past-nine when Draco finally sauntered through the door.

"Where have you been?" she questioned hotly, her eyes studying his cocky features.

"Those _Prophet _writers are tenacious fuckers," he commented, smothering a hungry kiss on her lips before he took his seat. "Good to have you back to normal, Granger."

"So?" she prompted, ignoring the tingle on her lips he always left behind. "What did you do?"

"I confirmed that we were in a relationship," he shrugged, although he struggled a little with the last word. "And that we kept it quiet so we could tell our friends and family first."

"That's it?" she asked when he didn't continue.

"That's it," he smirked, leaning forward. "Although _Witch Weekly _offered a nice sum of money for an exclusive interview and maybe a photo-shoot-

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, giving him a stern look. "I don't do that."

"Really?" he mumbled, rubbing his chin in a conspiring way. "Not even for a thousand Galleons?"

"No...," she paused, her eyes widening at his words. "A thousand Galleons?"

"Tempted?"

She pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side in a moment of weakness. Apparently, her and her lover were an expensive story.

"No," she said finally, arching her eyebrow.

"I figured as much," he nodded, knowing that was the end of the discussion. "And what aspect of Rome are you reading about today?"

"Marcus Manilius," she held up the book to show him. "Astronomer and poet, and evidently utterly useless. I'm wondering if I'm thinking about this too literally. Perhaps it's something more obvious that I'm just overlooking."

"Maybe," he offered non-committally, reaching for his own notes. "That's your expertise, Granger."

They worked in that familiar comfortable silence they they had both become rather fond of. They both worked best like this, free of distractions, occasionally sporting in some light banter than usually lead to Draco uttering a succulent innuendo that she would store in her head for later.

"Are you still adamant that we can't fuck on the desk again, Granger?" he mumbled over his Earl Grey, his steely eyes dilated. "Even if we came in on the weekend?"

"I'll think about it," she conceded with a twitch of her lips. It was hardly the first time he'd asked and she found that she wasn't completely opposed to revisiting his favourite piece of furniture. "Although, you do realise you have several desks at your house-

"But this is _our _desk," he stopped her in a tone that sounded almost possessive. "But yes, I quite like the idea of having your arse-print on some of my other furniture."

She giggled like one of those awful teenagers she would have rolled her eyes at in the street. But her childish chuckle was cut short by three soft taps against the door. Tilly popped her head around with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," she smiled politely. "Miss Granger, an owl just dropped off a letter for you."

Hermione was on her feet in less than a second, almost sprinting out of the office as Tilly plucked the small letter from the desk. The hope that had bloomed in Hermione trusting chest was quickly extinguished as she read Harry's words.

There was no acknowledgement of her letter, no friendly words of understanding and not even a small personal note to let her know how he was. All that stained the parchment between her fingers was a brief and cold report on his observations of the Carrow twins. And it came like a kick to her gut.

She turned over the page and reread the small note a few times, double-checking she hadn't missed something, anything that would be construed as personal. But there was nothing there. With an uncomfortable feeling shuddering in her chest, she headed back into the office, where Draco instantly sensed her glum mood.

"What was that?" he asked her, wondering if her disposition was blue enough to require some physical comfort.

"I sent a note to Harry earlier," she told him, her lips bowing with little jerks as she held back the determined tears. "Explaining about us and to say sorry for keeping it from him. He sent me the notes on the Carrow twins and completely ignored my letter."

Draco's eyebrows lowered as he absorbed her confession, deciding that Potter's cowardly behaviour had snapped away any remaining respect he'd had for the other wizard. For his childhood nemesis to just ignore what was going on was, in his opinion, a very childish method. He'd have thought the famous hero who had battled against Death Eaters and Voldemort himself would have been a bit more adept with confrontation. Evidently not.

"Sit down," he bade her, just as three reluctant tears left her sad eyes, one remaining tucked between her lashes and the other two bleeding down her cheeks.

She did as he requested and he reached out to catch her hand and rub his thumb across her delicate knuckles and fingers.

"It will get easier," he assured, his voice strong.

"It better," she murmured, her jaw firm as she swallowed back the offence. "I can't believe Harry is reacting like this. I really thought he would be okay with us."

"Would some insults about Potter and Weasley help?" he offered with a tight smirk.

"No," she shook her head, her lips tilting slightly at the corners.

"Are you sure? I have quite the selection."

"I'm sure you do," she sighed, a giggle at the back of her breath. "Thank you, Draco. Have you heard from any of your friends?"

"I'm sure Blaise will pay me a visit later," he decided, grazing his lips across the back of her hand. "And I'm willing to bet my mother will have a huge smile on her face right now. I might see her tonight if you have to stay in with Clearwater."

"Do you think Blaise will be okay with it?"

"I see no reason why not," he shrugged, realising he hadn't given it much thought. He'd learned long ago not to let others' opinions affect his judgement. He growled when another knock interrupted them and gave his door a cold look. "What is it?"

Hermione turned, expecting to find Tilly easing her head into the room again, but both her and her lover donned confused expressions when Penelope Clearwater popped her pretty head through the door. Her hand slipped out of Draco's, knowing he still wasn't entirely comfortable with portraying any level of affection with an audience.

"Hey," Penelope greeted them with a warm smile, although most of her attention was focussed on Hermione. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," she mumbled, slowly removing her hand from Draco's. "Is everything okay, Penelope?"

"It's fine," she nodded, making her way towards the other witch. "I've been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday but your Floo was disconnected and I only just managed to escape from the department. I just wanted to say congratulations! It's about time you guys came out as a couple-

"You knew?" Hermione asked, casting a surprised glance to Draco who looked equally confused. "But how-

"Those silencing charms don't last forever," she offered them a telling look. "It was pretty obvious anyway, although I suppose I only noticed because I've been staying at yours so much."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hermione muttered, tempted to give the girl a massive hug for being so casual.

"Because you obviously weren't ready to tell people," she explained, offering her friend another brilliant and relaxed grin. "Anyway, I think it's great. I really should get back before they realise I've gone but I'm staying at yours tonight so we can talk about it then, okay?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded with a relieved sigh. "I'll meet you by the Floo Network."

"Great," she said, offering them another knowing smile before she hurried out of the office, leaving the two lovers sharing bemused expressions.

"Nice to know all of your friends aren't useless," Draco muttered after a pause. "And perhaps even tolerable-

"She wasn't horrified by us," she muttered, almost to herself. "This is...progress."

"Feeling a bit more positive now?" he asked with a cocked brow.

"A bit," she nodded, tilting forward to suck his lips.

She received two more personal owls that day, one from Luna and one from Ginny, both assuring her that they weren't angry and pleased that she apparently had a new boyfriend, even if it was Malfoy. Neither of them had ever had any real quarrels with Draco at Hogwarts, but a small part of Hermione had thought Ginny may have sided with her fiancée, but she should have known better considering the redhead's incorrigible attitude.

Luna's letter had been short but sweet, just a quick 'hello' and an invitation to meet for lunch in the week. Ginny's letter had been a bit more erratic, starting with a paragraph asking why she hadn't told her that she'd been seeing Malfoy. After that she had ranted about Harry and Ron's 'unacceptable' behaviour and promised her that they would come round.

Both women had given Hermione small smiles with their kind words, and for that she would be eternally grateful. Even Neville had sent her an interdepartmental memo insisting that she not take any notice of the determined press, and also admitting that he actually hadn't been that surprised about her and Malfoy.

And Draco, to his credit, had been notably more patient with her. She had promised him that they could dine at the Wizard restaurant of his choosing whenever he liked, and the victorious smirk that had roused gentle pixies to flutter in her stomach had reminded her that she had definitely made a wise choice in her lover.

Leaving Hermione with Clearwater and satisfied that she was in higher spirits, Draco went home,

intending to have a quick shower and visit his mother. That had been the plan, but a certain fellow Slytherin waiting on his couch when he got home put a bump in that road.

"I fucking knew it," Blaise muttered when Draco strode out of the fireplace, and the blond tried to read his friend's features.

"You knew sod all," he retorted, collapsing on the couch opposite his friend.

"I think you'll find," the dark wizard continued, straightening his posture. "That I mentioned weeks ago that you had eyes for Granger. At the Ministry-

"I remember that," Draco shrugged, pouring two glasses of Ogden's. "And nothing had happened then-

"And exactly how long has something been happening?" Blaise asked, his dark eyes calm and blasé.

"A few weeks," he answered quickly, trying to gauge his friend's reaction. "Is this interrogation necessary?"

Blaise shifted on the sofa, his cheeks flexing as he tongued the inside of his mouth. Something between a smirk and a sneer was toying with his mouth but Draco could tell his friend was more amused than anything else. But the comedy was different, like Blaise was finding it cathartic to laugh instead of actually liking the news.

"And why, pray tell, did you find it necessary to keep it quiet?" he questioned, giving Draco an odd look.

"Her call," Malfoy said with a flippant tone, taking a calculating sip of his Firewhiskey. "She wanted to tell her friends before the press blurted it out."

"And you didn't trust me not to say something?" he asked, challenging Draco with his glare.

"Trust didn't come into it," he responded carefully. "She asked me not to tell anyone, so I didn't."

"I see," Blaise frowned, pausing to regard his friend with oily eyes. "So you're completely over the whole Muggle-born thing, I take?"

"I have been for a while," Draco murmured with a nonchalant breath.

"Interesting," the dark wizard mumbled, rubbing his chin with thought. "And you're really going out with Granger?"

"Yes," the blond nodded.

"Despite the fact that you hated each other in school," Blaise continued, stroking the rim of his glass. "And she is the Gryffindor golden girl?"

"_Was_," he corrected. "Don't you think we're a little old to be referring to our school houses now?"

"Apparently so," he smirked, taking a deep breath before he continued. "I feel like I should point out that this will probably end in tears."

"Perhaps," Draco allowed himself a small chuckle. "Is your interrogation over?"

"For now," Blaise conceded, raising his tumbler with a steady grip. "Cheers then, mate."

"Cheers," the pale wizard grinned, chinking his glass against his companion's.

.

* * *

.

By Friday, the gaggle of journalists had substantially simmered, and Draco knew he owed his mother some gratitude for sedating Skeeter and her cronies. Hermione had agreed to a late-night 'girl evening' with Lovegood, Clearwater and the Weasley girl so he had stayed at home, sending an owl to Warrington to ask if he'd heard anything else, and also to let him know that his lover had completed the communication devices for his fiancé.

He'd come into work early when he'd woken up a good hour before he'd intended. When nine o'clock ticked by with no sign of his girlfriend, his eyebrows had drawn together in confusion. He knew Hermione well enough to know that she despised being late unless there was a valid reason. When she shyly shuffled into the room at half past, she looked visibly shaken, and something in his head fractured.

"What is it?" he rushed the words out, watching with a protective stare as she visibly shivered. Falling into her seat and doing everything to avoid his eyes, he knew her Friday blues was significantly worse today.

"I'm fine," she sighed, organising her notes and the letters with fragile fingers. "Just a late night with the girls-

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Granger," he mumbled in a gruff tone.

"No ghosts," she whispered, anxiously bothering her bottom lip. "I just stayed up too late."

It was ridiculous how unsettled he felt watching her. She was so obviously distressed about something and he was completely helpless to ease her troubles, and that was entirely her fault. Not knowing was the worst thing.

He was a heart-thump away from demanding her reason; from telling her that his tether had very much expired, and that he needed to know what dampened her soul on Fridays. He caught her dainty hand between him palms and held it firmly, parting his mouth to ask old questions when his door swung open.

"Bloody hell," Draco scorned, releasing his lover's hand. "Would it kill you to knock, Warrington?"

"I have other things to do today," he shrugged, giving Hermione a nod of greeting. "I came to collect the things for Amelia."

"Amelia?" she asked.

"My fiancé," he confirmed while she removed the items from her bag. "She wanted me to thank you for them."

"It's no trouble," Hermione offered, showing him the two charmed objects. "If she taps her wand three times against the coin then my coin will tell me where she is and I will Apparate to her. The hair-pin is an emergency portkey, just in case."

"Clever," Caleb nodded with an impressed expression.

"And thank you for the information you told us," she continued, and Draco frowned as she forced a false smile on her lips. "It's been helpful."

"Is there anything else you know?" Malfoy questioned the other wizard. Deciding his lover still looked a little timid despite her best efforts to hide it.

"I'm still trying to find things out," he explained calmly, folding his arms over his chest. "Mainly just asking around to see if anyone else has received any letters, but I haven't had much luck. Have you had any progress?"

"A little," Hermione muttered, running her fingers over the letters in front of her and opening her book on Lucretius. "I need to decode these as soon as I can."

"We found out the letters were invitations to join an anti-Muggle group," Draco explained warily, wondering if he could really trust Warrington just yet. "My main concern is that some people may have responded and that we could be looking for more than one killer."

"I see," Caleb frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. "How did you find that out?"

"I paid Pucey a little visit," he said slowly. "He's under the Vow so I didn't get much out of him."

"Pucey," he repeated the name with a roll of his eyes. "He was always too fickle for his own good. "

"He said I should consider Ancient Rome to try and break the codes," Hermione sighed, rubbing her temple impatiently. "I don't suppose you have come across anything that could link to that?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he said, turning his eyes back to Draco. "So there could be a number of people involved in this?"

"So it seems," he nodded, noticing that one of his lover's studious looks had captured her face. "What is it, Granger?"

"Nothing," she shook her head distantly, spilling her coffee-curls around her shoulders. "I thought I...never mind. Carry on."

Draco clenched his jaw but didn't say anything, deciding it was best not to bring up her odd behaviour with their guest. Warrington looked a little bemused but refrained from commenting, shifting his blank stare back to his fellow Slytherin.

"So you have no idea how many people could be involved with the group?" Caleb inquired.

"Not a clue," he scowled, tapping his fingers against the desk. "There could be just the one or there could be a few."

"You need to figure out how many there could be," he advised. "Finding out the number is critical-

"Wait," Hermione gasped suddenly, snatching the attention of the two men. "Say that again."

Caleb shared a confused glance with Draco while the blond just eyed his lover expectantly. The expression on her face was in some fascinating limbo between enlightened and troubled, but she quickly snapped her stare up to Warrington, urging him to comply with her request.

"I said that finding out the number was critical," he repeated with uncertainty. "Or did you mean-

"That's it!" she exclaimed with round eyes, rising from her seat with urgency. "I am such a bloody idiot!"

"Hermione," Draco called to her, but she was already heading out the door. "Where the hell-

"I'll be back in a minute," she hushed him over her shoulder, leaving behind a pair of puzzled wizards.

"She's...," Warrington started, raising his eyebrow at Draco as he paused. "Eccentric."

The blond smirked in spite of himself but corrected it quickly. "You have no idea," he mumbled instead.

"You still call her Granger," he remarked, observing the other wizard's face closely.

"Force of habit," Draco answered with a wary tone. "So?"

"I read that you are an item in the _Prophet,_" he said. "And several other papers actually-

"What of it?" he responded defensively, despite Caleb's casual tone.

"Well, it explains why you weren't critical of my own relationship with a Muggle-born," Warrington muttered, fixing his blond companion with a grave look. "I would keep an eye on her if I was you-

"She's not your concern," he spat, his hands balling into pale fists.

"I know that," Caleb breathed wearily, and Draco noticed the dark crescents under his eyes then. "Just take it as some advice from someone else who is involved with a Muggle-born, Malfoy. Especially when there is someone trying to murder them-

"I will handle it," he scolded harshly, tired of his schoolmate's presence. "You can leave now. If you find anything else-

"I'll let you know," he interrupted, leaving a frustrated and turbulent Malfoy in his absence.

Draco calmed his tempestuous thoughts with some loud breaths, willing Hermione to hasten her return. Her presence relaxed him in a way he could never quite fathom, even if only a shadow of her usual aura was present on Fridays. He actually felt his shoulders relax when she bounded back into the room, clutching a book to her chest and wearing a triumphant smile.

"I figured out the code!" she beamed, rushing to her chair. "When Warrington mentioned numbers it clicked! I can't believe I didn't think of it before, it's so obvious-

"Granger," he stopped her. "What are you-

"It's Roman numerals," she explained, her cocoa eyes burning with realisation. "The letters are written with some kind of numerical system and the rest is probably in the archaic Latin alphabet-

"I'll take your word for it," he smirked at her, nearly forgetting how distressed she had been earlier. "So you know what they say now?"

"It will take me a few days," she told him. "But now I know what the key is it shouldn't take me long. This is brilliant, Draco! This could help us so much!"

He was about to reply with words of praise, but she flung herself over the desk and stole his lips in a desperate kiss, pulling her legs over so she could sit on the edge. Draco instinctively nestled himself between her thighs and tongued her mouth with fire. One of her ever-pleasing sighs pushed into the kiss and he pulled away.

"Granger," he warned, his tone husky and ravenous. "Don't-

"Lock the door," she insisted with lash-hidden eyes. "Let's take an early lunch."

"You're agreeing to a celebratory shag on the desk?" he questioned with a disbelieving tone.

"If you're quick about it and agree to working late tonight," she mumbled, laughing against his alabaster skin as he rushed out a quick locking spell.

And Draco decided he would overlook her Friday-misery, and that she had visibly shivered when she had first entered his office. His curiosity and frustration could wait. For now.

.

* * *

.

On Sunday, Draco brushed aside her sodden hair to stroke his teeth against her throat, leaving behind the territorial smudges she adored to receive. He angled her naked leg a little higher up on his hip and pressed further into her, ramming her defiantly against the tiles with a shuddering grunt.

Her head fell back, the shower droplets decorating her lust-flushed face and dragging back her long, fawn-hair. Her fingers clung to his shoulders and her legs tightened around him as she blurted out a particularly loud moan that rumbled in her bathroom.

The exquisite ripples of her rapture fluttered around his length, coaxing out his orgasm with a chorus of loud sighs and groans. He carefully lowered them to the base of the shower, clutching her close to his chest as she trembled away the remains of her bliss.

"I think the shower is my favourite," she murmured tiredly against his shoulder.

"No," he disagreed with exhausted breaths, although Sunday shower sessions were quickly becoming his favourite morning surprise.. "My office desk."

"I thought as much," she smiled, shakily rising to her feet. "I need to finish up decoding the letters. Have a _proper_ shower and I'll make us some breakfast."

Draco watched with amused eyes as she nearly stumbled on her still-quaking legs, shrugging on a blue bathrobe. After resting for another minute or so, he reluctantly rose and finished his wash, wrapping a towel around his hips when he was done. He contemplated heading straight to her kitchen, but the November chill was fresh against his damp skin.

Gathering his discarded clothes from her bedroom floor, he dressed a little too quickly for his recovering muscles to handle. As he tugged up a trouser leg, he lost his balance and knocked into her bedside table, watching as her work-bag crashed to the ground and all its contents scattered around him.

"Shit," he growled, crouching down to gather the hundred-odd pages of parchment that were fanned out around him.

He frowned as he eyed his lover's customary handwriting, but faltered when he spotted a small sepia file. He noticed a sheet poking out of it, scribbled in writing he instantly recognised.

It was in the same hand the letters to the victims had been.

One word caught his attention.

_Mudblood. _

Reaching for the the unfamiliar file, he caught it awkwardly and a further twenty or so pages splashed over the floorboards. His eyes narrowed as his confused stare skimmed over the words, but it was the moving photographs that really caught his attention.

One of her walking down her street.

One of him and her heading to the Muggle Restaurant they had been to on their first date.

His stomach spasmed painfully as he absorbed the next one.

One taken from the road outside her home, focussed on her bedroom window as she unbuttoned her shirt, her bra-clad breasts and flat stomach unknowingly exposed. The motion finished just as she closed her curtains.

There were more, but his fingers were busy biting into the fringes of the last violating picture. The images kept repeating the small sequence as the vomit-rousing anger clawed at his gut. And at the top of each picture, and letter he noticed, her innocent and feminine scrawl clashed with the harsh intent of the pages.

A date. And while the numbers changed, the day's name remained the same.

Friday.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Another long chapter...So yeah...there it is...The issue with Fridays is yours to mull over!

Thanks ever so much for your reviews for the last chapter. It was very difficult for me to decide which one in particular made me grin as there were a few rather lengthy ones with charming comments and the like! However, I think **ivorynightfall **wrote the most helpful review so thanks very much for your thoughts! It was a delight to read you enjoy my characters and my depiction of the relationship so thanks so much for reading!

Also, two of you asked if it was normal to fancy fictional characters! I chuckled a lot and this somehow sparked a massive debate between me and three friends.

We came to the conclusion that the real thing is often a let down, so it's kind of inevitable!

Hope you liked the chapter! Very close to 100 favourites, and I am still adamant that I will treat myself to a glass of champers if that happens!

More wine was involved in the making of this chapter...

Read and Review please!

**Next Chapter**: There will be Malfoy Fireworks...And possibly some drama that could change everything...

Disclaimer: Not mine...Although I'm willing to fork out a fair few quids for the rights to Draco...


	23. Broken

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 23: Broken. 

.

Hermione had just plated up Draco his favourite; a bacon and egg sandwich. She nibbled on her jam-coated toast, glancing out of the window and absently drawing a heart in the condensation. It was frosty outside, and the sun was reflecting with warm rays over the glassy trees and houses. She spotted a laughing family, casually walking a pushchair along her street.

She loved these Sunday mornings, when the winter was charmed by a cooling sun and Christmas was just beginning to grace the public. It was too early for the frilly decorations, but she had caught a few seasonal adverts on the television, and it was always her favourite holiday.

She settled herself at her kitchen table and returned to the letters, guiding her wand over each sentence and muttering the incantation that would translate it. Each sentence could take anywhere between ten minutes or two hours, but it was worth it. So far, she had successfully decoded two of Goyle's letters and three of Nott's.

Adrian Pucey had been telling the truth. There _had_ been invitations, requesting that the recipient-come-victim meet at random places if they wished to join the anti-Muggle group. The first invitation was standard, perhaps even cordial, but after that they grew increasingly agitated and aggressive. They read thus:

_Brother, _

_I remember finer days when the world was not polluted my Mudbloods. _

_Voldemort was careless, but not stupid. _

_I invite you to join my cause. To finish what he started. _

_Meet me at..._

The suggested meeting places always changed, so there was no of hope trapping him at a particular place. He really had thought of everything. The letters were always brief; completely devoid of anything unique that could pose as a hint. It was frustrating and scary. She had expected more from the notes.

She sighed as the words slowly transformed into English, tilting her chin against her palm as she waited for her coffee to cool.

That was how Draco found her; relaxing in her cobalt robe and humming a delicate tune to herself as she worked on the letters. So blissfully ignorant to the dangerous storm swirling in his head. The furious thoughts were ripe on his tongue, but for the life of him he couldn't voice them. She must have glimpsed him in her peripheral vision because she jumped, placing her palm over her chest.

"Merlin, Draco," she breathed, as he neared the table. "You scared me-

"I know now," he hissed at her, slamming the sepia file on the table. He watched with glaring fury as her eyes grew rounder, her eyelashes fluttering slightly before her frightened stare darted up to him. He could feel the burning bile invade his throat. "I know what you have _fucking _been hiding-

"Draco, please-

"These are letters from _him_!" he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the file. "And not just letters, Granger! Fucking pictures!"

He picked up the file and shook it until the contents were scattered before her on the table, and she quickly turned her head away. Had his glare not been slightly misted by his rage, he may have noticed the gloss of tears against her nutmeg eyes.

"You don't understand-

"Of course I don't understand!" he yelled, leaning over the table, but she bowed her head away from him. "You kept this from me! What the fuck were you thinking? Do you realise how dangerous this is? Everyone else who got letters is _dead_, Granger!"

"I know," she murmured, refusing to match his fiery stare. "But I-

"How could you be so stupid?" he shouted louder as she rose from her chair. He grabbed her wrist when she tried to move away from him, pulling her close and holding her firm. "Don't you dare try and ignore me! Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Yes," she gasped, a salty tear spilling down her face. "I just...I didn't-

"What do they say?" he asked her, releasing her wrist to grasp her shoulders. "Tell me!"

"You didn't read them?" she choked on her distress, her breathing jittery and her face panicked.

"No," his tone lowered a little as he recognised her alarm. "What the fuck do they say, Hermione?"

"No," she shook her head frantically, trying to break free from his grip. "Please don't. Please don't read them-

"Of course I'm going to read them!" he scolded, faltering when more tears escaped her eyes. "Stop crying! That is evidence! And I am your fucking boyfriend! I should know! I have responsibilities to you-

"You don't need to-

"Yes I do!" he stopped her, trying to ignore her muffled sobs and the teardrops splashing against his arms like summer rain. "I am reading them-

"No," she whined, her body near collapsing in his hold. "No. Draco, please. You can't read them." Her tone was desperate, begging him to listen to her. She was clawing at his forearms as she tried to keep her balance, her small frame quaking like a windswept foxglove. "You can't-

"Why?" he questioned, gathering her closer when her legs finally gave out. "Why shouldn't I-

"They're horrible," she cried, pushing her forehead into his chest with pathetic whimpers. He didn't know what to do so he just supported her weight, listening to her stuttered words with with a dread that was starting to ache. "Please, Draco," she continued, clutching his shirt with pitiful fists. "They're disgusting and degrading-

"Degrading?" he asked, trying to pry her away from him. "What do you mean?"

"The things he says he wants to do...to me."

He stiffened. Blood was singing in his ears with his heartbeat accompanying the hearty noise like a battle drum. The vulnerability to her tone was so telling, but his muddled mind was resisting the obvious. His hold on her tightened with a protective strength that cut her sobbing short for a second.

"What things?" he rasped out, his voice harsh.

"Don't make me say them," she whispered against his body. "Please."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We weren't anything when I first started getting them," she told him, her voice small. "I tried to tell you a couple of times but it was too hard. I was embarrassed-

"Well you shouldn't be," he said with force.

"He mentions you," she mumbled through her tears. "He guessed there was something going on before we told anyone. He watches us."

"Is there anything else you need to tell me?" he questioned, rubbing absent circles down her spine now. The devastation in her voice was unnerving "Or is it just the letters and photographs?"

"Everything's in that file," she murmured, her cries softening against her lover. "I am so sorry."

He exhaled like it hurt to breath, but her welcomed apology ricocheted in his head for a moment. His hand moved up to stroke her still-damp curls with an abandoned tenderness that instantly made her relax. He pushed back her toffee tresses and rested his lips against her forehead. Placing his hands on her tear-sodden cheeks, he pulled her away and leaned forward so their eyes were level.

"Hermione," he said in the calmest voice he could under the circumstances. Her glassy eyes were like a sandstorm, frightened and wild, but her frantic sobs had soothed into sniffs. "I need to read them."

"No!" her frenzy returned, and she tried to shake him off with hysteric thrashes. She knew how mortified she would be later at her irrational behaviour, but she couldn't help it. The letters were repulsively intimate and her heart was tender with the thought of him reading it. It was that twinging in her ribcage that overpowered her usual composure and led to the volatile mess she was being right now. "No, no, no, no-

"I need to," he repeated, bracing her shoulders as the fresh tears came. "I have to know what he's written to you. I'm your boyfriend-

"I know, and I'm sorry for keeping this from you," she wept, and her broken tone almost shattered his resolve. "But please don't read-

"You know I have to," he breathed, giving her a sobering shake. "I also have to read them because they're evidence, Hermione. You know I do-

"Then please don't read them in front of me," she begged. "Please, Draco. It's too humiliating-

"Okay, okay," he nodded, hushing her with a strong embrace that was more restraining than consoling. "But after I read them we have to talk about it-

"No-

"Yes," he stopped her with a strict tone. "You can't ignore this. This is involved with the case, Hermione. You know I'm right-

"I don't want to talk about it-

"You have to," he repeated, growling at her to demonstrate his rigour. "You're stronger than this, Granger. You know we have to discuss it-

"Okay," she snapped, her expression devastated but wearily submissive. "But I can't be here when you read them-

"That's fine," he assured her, leaning in to offer a brief but soft kiss on her quivering lips. His thumbs smudged away the tracks of her tears as she nervously nipped at his mouth, swallowing whatever sentiment she could before it dissipated.

"Can you take me to my room, please?" she requested, reaching her arms around his neck.

He carefully cradled her legs and back and held her protectively against his chest, pausing for a moment just to feel her safely there. Giving her cheek a subconscious nuzzle, he carried her up the stairs and placed her gently on her bed.

"I'll come back up when I'm finished," he said, passing her that thing she called the 'remote.' "This isn't like you, Granger. Watch some of those bloody comedy programmes you love, calm down and I'll be back soon."

She didn't reply; just offered him a broken-hearted nod, like he was betraying her. He contemplated giving her a quick kiss but decided she had been draining his affection and he was still angry with her for hiding it in the first place. Giving her a blank look, he moved to leave the room, but her sad voice stopped him.

"Draco," she whispered hesitantly. "If he finds out that you know, it will get worse. For both of us. "

"You still should have told me," he glanced over his shoulder at her, and then he left her alone.

.

* * *

.

Draco poured himself a glass of Ogden's before he seated himself back at the table. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and took a deep breath before he eyed the collage of repulsive pages in front of him. He had no idea where to even begin. The pictures were screaming at him, so he reluctantly plucked them out of the scattered parchments.

There were eight in total.

He put aside the ones he'd already seen, his storm-grey glare lingering on the one of her in her bra.

That left him five.

The first was of her and Weasley arguing in _The Leakey Cauldron. _The scruffy redhead was flapping his mouth in some wordless lecture while his lover silently seethed. He tired to read the redhead's lips but the photo had been taken too far away; perhaps even through one of the pub's windows. He put that one aside with a grunt, deciding he was angry enough without having to look at Weasley.

The next was her and Lovegood strolling down Diagon Alley, Hermione with an amused grin on her face as the blonde ranted about something randomly obscure. It was ridiculous to think the picture was innocent, but it was certainly the least invading and it calmed his thundering thoughts.

But it was temporary.

The next was focussed on her bedroom window again, a thin sheet clutched tightly at her breast. He sucked in a nasal breath when he saw himself come up behind her and peck at her neck. He swallowed back the irritated bile in his throat, noting that the sensation of being watched made him feel disturbed.

The fourth was a longer sequence than the others, and presented her running down the street to her home, an October shower making her ivory shirt translucent. He watched as she appeared in her sitting room window next, hastily removing her dripping clothes until her torso was exposed, her bare chest flushed with the cold. A moment of awareness stole her features and she quickly drew the curtains.

But it was too late. The sick fuck had seen Hermione's naked chest. _His _girlfriend's chest. The feeling that throbbed in his stomach was physically painful and he flinched like he'd been stabbed.

That repressed darkness and cruelty bubbled underneath his flesh, coldly reminiscent of his days with Voldemort. Hatred bled into his veins, clouding his logic and encouraging his possessiveness for his Muggle-born lover.

He hastily shoved aside that picture when the black flecks of rage had begun to seep into his vision.

He'd forgotten how powerful it felt to hate.

But the last photograph was the salt to his wound.

The camera must have been pressed up against her window pane because he could see the majority of her bedroom. His actually felt his brain jerk. She was sleeping soundly on her bed, the thin sheet carelessly discarded by her feet. Her curled up position and the dim lighting just about covered her modesty, but it was a whisper of a blessing, overlooked amongst his fury.

He could see the light glowing from her en suite and instinctively knew it was himself using her bathroom. He secretly willed his photo-self to hurry the hell up and cover his slumbering girlfriend when she shifted slightly, but the image's sequence was frustratingly short.

He couldn't watch it twice.

The guilt that simmered in his chest felt like someone had rammed barbed wire down his throat. He had been an oblivious and feckless ornament in that scene and it provoked his conscience and sanity. He roughly pushed aside the photographs and rested his temple against his balled fist, warning himself to compose his hot and unstable instincts.

It was the carnal impulses like these that reminded him humans were very much animals.

It took him close to twenty minutes to gather the crumbling scraps of his control. He shoved the pictures back into the file with a grunt of distaste and slowly opened his eyes to glare at the ink-stained parchments. There were twelve in total, almost three months worth, and he contemplated putting them in order but decided it didn't really matter.

The letters, words, sentences and paragraphs assaulted his already bruised brain.

It took him an angry hour to read them all. Not because they were particularly long but because he had to to take breaks to calm himself before he could continue. By the end of it he felt like he could literally massacre a small village. The phrases the killer had harassed his lover with echoed in his head like the screams of the dying.

_...always wanted to know what a Mudblood tastes like..._

_...know your parents still live in Richmond..._

_...fuck you until your blood covers..._

_...telling him would only make it worse..._

_...have been saving you for last..._

_...wonder if I could finish you just by fucking you..._

_...Malfoy forgets his place..._

_...shouldn't be allowed to coexist..._

_...add an extra hour for every person you tell..._

_...I will know..._

_...impressive, Miss Granger, but still a Mudblood..._

_...it will be slower and special for you..._

_...rape is romantic compared to what I have planned for us... _

He couldn't read any more. With a wandless and non-verbal spell, the letters all rushed back into the sepia file and away from his thunder-dark glare. Livid couldn't even begin to describe how he felt. He was near psychotic.

A slow and trembling roar of anguish writhed out of his throat.

He slammed his palms against his eyelids, his fingernails marking his hairline as he clutched his head. For a moment he considered slamming his head against the table but couldn't bring himself to move.

So he stayed that way for another hour; his only movements his erratic breathing and the temperamental tremors that affected his form. Everything was a blur of words and images and hate and revenge. He was fighting hard to keep control and stability. The hereditary Malfoy rage was a powerful thing, but then so was the desire to remain stoic. To keep calm.

With a sigh of clarity, he massaged the bridge of his nose one last time before he rose to his feet. He poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey and savoured the burning sensation in his dry mouth. He had another. Then another. Eight all together; only stopping when he felt slightly numb.

He leaned against Hermione's counter for another twenty minutes or so, taking that time just to relax his mind some more. He did not want to shout at Hermione. They were both heavy with emotions and they had a tendency to say things they always regretted after.

He stopped grinding his teeth and slowly made his way upstairs. His steps were sullen and laden with stress but his stance was strong and purposeful. He paused at the top of the steps, tempted to plan what he should or could say. But no. A few more steps and he was in the doorframe.

She was clutching her ginger pet like he was her lifeline, her muggle entertainment-box still off. Only the half-kneazle's ignorant purrs filled the room and this was good. It meant she had stopped crying.

"You took a long time," she commented in a soft tone, not looking at him.

"I know," he agreed simply, taking another step into her room.

"You are angry," she said, a hitch in her voice.

"Yes."

"With me?" she asked, finally raising her bloodshot to him. With a frustrated breath, he walked towards her and sat on her bed, keeping a foot between them.

"Yes," he admitted after a pause, carefully removing Crookshanks from her grasp and firmly gripping her hand. "You should have told me."

"But he wrote-

"I know," he hushed her, slowly shifting her so she was securely in his lap. "Idle threats probably-

"I was not willing to take that risk," she told him squarely, a sad moan at the back of her voice. "I'm sorry about my...outburst before."

He pulled her a little closer to his chest and allowed that protective instinct to rule his mind for a moment.

"You don't need to apologise for that," he told her with a gruff tone. "But I need to ask you some questions now."

A pause and a calming breath. "Okay."

"How are they delivered?" he questioned with a deceptively professional tone.

"The Muggle way," she explained calmly. "He posts them through my door when I'm asleep. I tried to stay up once and catch it but then it was there when I came back from work." She stopped for a moment and he could hear her nibble at her lip. "I think he may be using Legilimency on me."

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

"Are you skilled in Occlumency?" he questioned.

"I thought I was," she breathed, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "But sometimes I think I can feel someone rummaging around in my head."

He closed his eyes and let the possessive growl escape his lips.

"Padfoot has been helping me develop it," she continued, her breath brushing against his cheek. "It's only happened a couple of times. It could be nothing, Draco. Just paranoia."

"He mentioned your parents," he reminded her, feeling her tense in his arms. "Have you done anything about that?"

"That was the most recent letter," she murmured dejectedly. "And I honestly don't know what I can do."

"You told me how you helped them in the War," he offered cautiously. "I think it would be wise you did that again-

"I can't," she stopped him, and he could hear her tears returning. "They're Muggles, Draco. Too many memory charms are dangerous. I'm lucky they remembered me the last time."

"Then you should consider telling them to move," he offered, careful not to sound too agitated when mentioning her family. He took a deep breath; this next aspect of their conversation would be uncomfortable for both of them and his temper would definitely be tested. "Hermione, the letters are...

"Sexually explicit," she provided for him, feeling him flinch. His grip on her tightened again, and she was grateful for the security.

"Yes," he rasped out, his jaw tense. He needed to douse his anger before he could continue.

"It could just be a scare tactic," she blurted with a hopeful twinge.

"Maybe," he sneered, knowing it was doubtful. The killer had made it painfully clear that Hermione would be unique in his sinister plans.

_...rape is romantic compared to what I have planned for us..._

"Draco," she mumbled against him. "You're hurting me a little."

"Sorry," he muttered, softening his hold slightly, liking his lips before he continued. "I don't want you to stay here any more."

He sensed her shock at his request and heard her small gasp.

"I have nowhere-

"I want you to come live with me," he told her steadily, absently stroking her hair with his fingertips. "Just until this is over-

"I don't think that's a good idea," she stopped him, pulling away to catch his stare. "I appreciate your offer, Draco, but we haven't been going out long enough for something like that."

"It's for your protection," he explained, giving her a cheek a quick caress.

"I don't need you to-

"Maybe you don't need to," he said reluctantly, visibly cringing as he sacrificed some of his pride for the next sentence. "But _I _need you to."

She gave him a long look with those tear-tainted eyes, pursing her lips in thought. Her mouth twitched into an almost-smile of affection and gratitude, and she placed a broken kiss at the corner of his frown.

"Penelope is still living with me," she said as she pulled away.

"Then you tell Volan and Leandra that they will have to take responsibility for her now," he demanded, but his tone was careful. "This is not optional, Granger. You are moving in with me."

"Are you sure?" she asked him, running her fingernails tentatively by his hairline. "This is quite a big thing. And I know you're still a little uneasy about the whole relationship-

"As I said," he interrupted, giving her a strict stare. "This is not optional."

"Okay," she nodded with a nervous bounce of her tresses. "But it will take me a while to arrange for Penelope to move in with Volan."

"How long?"

"Maybe a week," she shrugged, just as Crookshanks hopped back up on the bed and settled himself on his owner's knees. "And you do realise that he comes with me?"

"Of course," he groaned, resisting the urge to push the cat back to the floor. "But he will not be allowed in the bedroom, Granger."

"Are you still angry at me?" she questioned, giving him a forlorn look that was nearly beautiful.

"I am angry," he told her forcefully, but then he sighed. "I may not understand your choice to keep it secret but I do understand your motives. I'm more angry about the situation. About him."

"Me too," she confessed, sounding withdrawn as her faithful pet jumped back down and left them alone. "It's so embarrassing-

"You have no reason to be embarrassed," he argued with a waning bite.

"But the things he writes-

"Are fucking vile," he supplied, strengthening his hold on her again. "But no reason for you to feel embarrassed. Is that understood? This isn't like you, Granger. I would have thought you'd be a bit more aggressive and active-

"No one's ever said things like that to me before," she told him with a grimace, but her tone sounded a little stronger. "I have to admit, I do feel a bit better now you know."

"Good," he stated simply.

"Do you think he will find out that you know?" she asked, her fear gracefully concealed.

"We won't say anything to anyone else," he told her. "This is our case so we aren't obliged to anyway. But I want you to continue your Occlumency training with Padfoot."

"Okay," she nodded, placing her palms on his cheeks. "Thank you, Draco."

He said nothing, just kept his trademark scowl in place but leaned in to lick her mouth with something close to desperation. She accepted the protective gesture with a relieved sigh, tightening her arms around his neck. This kiss was different he noticed, like they needed it more than wanted it, and it was a warming sensation for him to be needed.

"I'm sorry," she breathed against his lips.

"I know," he said, pulling away to give her another stern look. "We will need to talk about this more, but I think that's enough for now."

"Yes," she agreed, glancing at him anxiously. "What do we do now?"

He considered her question thoughtfully, reaching up to remove the remains of her crying. She looked collected now, still a little vulnerable but a shade closer to the determined witch he was accustomed to. He knew the best thing that would distract her.

"We're going to have some lunch," he explained, lifting them both off the bed. "And then we are going to work on the case and consider the new evidence."

She looked a bit reluctant at first, but she gave him a firm nod anyway.

.

* * *

.

By Friday, Hermione felt significantly better. Draco's patience had clearly been pushed to its limits with all this, but he had kept the shouting to a minimum. They'd had one argument, and that had been a lot less than she'd expected. Despite the circumstances, she even recognised that a sliver of excitement was residing in her stomach at the prospect of moving in with her lover.

He had stayed with her last night and, so far, she had received no letter. While she was still uncomfortable about discussing the sexually invasive content, she quickly distracted herself by distancing herself from the letters and searching for any hints. She had also finished translating the notes the killer had sent to the ex-Death Eaters, so they were useful in distracting her too.

Draco's attitude towards her wasn't condescending or anything close to soft; he was simply calmer with her, but reminded her that they had a job to do. It was only because of his behaviour that she found herself quickly fitting back into her determined self, urged on to find the bastard who had dared to write her such repulsive things.

"How long do you think it will take you to finish?" her lover asked her as they started to clean up for the day.

"Shouldn't take long," she said with a small shrug. "We just have a few more boxes to take to Volan's and then we'll be done."

"Do you have anything else you need to drop off at mine?"

"A few more things but I can manage," she offered, watching his movements with a tight smile.

"Okay," he nodded, putting aside his notes for the day. "I'll be at the Manor for a few hours so just go straight to mine and I'll meet you there."

"You sure I can't help you and your mum?" she asked for possibly the third time that day.

"It's fine," he assured her with a frown. "I'm hoping this will be the end of her redecorating for a while. I'm getting sick of helping her shift all the bloody furniture."

"Why don't you just teach her the spell?"

"I tried," he rolled his eyes. "She put her wardrobe through one of the windows. I won't be long. Just unpack your stuff while you wait."

"Okay," she breathed, gracing him with a light chuckle. "Well, Penelope's meeting me here so you go ahead."

"Remember to lock up," he muttered, leaving his seat and giving her cheek a small peck before he left.

Hermione grinned as his lips grazed her cheeks, as she often did.

Yes, she was certainly feeling better. The relief that she didn't have to keep something from any more was quickly outweighing her anxious qualms.

She was reading over Goyle's letters, confused when fifteen minutes had ticked by with no sign of Penelope. Thinking that she may have been held up with some work, she continued for a further fifteen minutes before she went to investigate.

"Excuse me," she stopped one of the department staff. "I'm looking for Penelope Clearwater?"

"She left about an hour ago," the wizard shrugged.

Hermione frowned in confusion, but then perhaps she had simply misunderstood her and her friend's discussion earlier. Strange though; she could have sworn they'd agreed to meet at Draco's office before they went home to move the remainder of her belongings. Shrugging it off, she decided that there must have been a miscommunication at some point.

When she reached the Floo Network and still saw no sign of her fellow Muggle-born, her frown hardened. Usually Penelope would wait for her here, but then perhaps she had wanted to get a head-start on the remains of her packing. With a hesitation that she decided was unnecessary, she gathered the required amount of Floo powder and called out her address.

"Penelope?" Hermione called from her fireplace, stretching her fingers nervously as she cast a quick glance around her sitting room.

A curious but familiar knot of foreboding squirmed in her stomach as she was greeted by silence. November meant that the skies turned navy far too early for her liking, and her house was drowned in a chilly darkness that roused childish fears. She called Penelope's name again with no response, and then shook her head at herself to scold her silly fears.

She removed her wand from her pocket and managed to mutter a _Lumos _before she slipped and tumbled to the floor.

She felt the sticky liquid drench through her clothes to lick at her skin, also coating one side of her face and soaking her hair. She released a grunt of frustration and slight pain, coughing when the reminiscent tang of metal flooded her senses.

She smothered a gag with another cough and slowly opened her eyes, instantly meeting the wide and lifeless stare of Penelope, eerily glowing in the charm of Hermione's wand.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Sorry about the Cliffy...kinda... I actually intended to get this chapter out earlier but I've been very lucky and had a charming spat of migraines the last couple of days! Oh, the joys!

Thanks ever so much for the reviews for the last chapter. My favourite (although it's becoming increasingly difficult to chose because you're all so lovely! Blush!) was from **FE **for her lovely and honest review! Glad to hear you are enjoying my story and I will keep an eye on my blasted grammar! Grrr!

To answer **Dianna**'s question, I usually start with a fruity Merlot and then shift to a Grenache! As for my Champagne choice..always Mumm's!

Thanks to **ashley **too for her excessive use of the word 'fuck.' Being an avid fan of swear words myself...I couldn't stop giggling at your review!

Also my story has been faved by 110 people! Massive compliment and I did indeed have a glass of champers! Although I also got my exam results this week so it was kind of necessary! Hope the chapter was okay!

Things will be getting a bit darker from here...

**Next time: Poor Penelope...**


	24. Blood

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 24: Blood.

.

Draco had lied.

Yes, he had gone to the Manor, but his mother hadn't asked him to help her with her refurbishment fetish.

No. He had told his mother he was visiting for one sole purpose. He needed to blow off some steam.

He had managed to keep a fair restraint on his patience since he had found out about Hermione's letters, but his temper had flourished beneath his flesh like a well-watered seed. He had found it necessary to keep a closer eye on her than normal, more for his own benefit than hers, but in doing so he had denied himself a decent outlet for his anger.

So he had decided that he would take advantage of Malfoy Manor's duelling room and hex the charmed targets until he felt too exhausted to be angry. He had discarded his shirt at some point and a healthy varnish of sweat coated his form as he screamed another _Confringo _at a conjured table.

He stumbled on his feet, satisfied that he had worn himself out and felt decidedly less volatile. _Accio_ing a towel, he dabbed at his salty chest and took a few shuddering breaths to gain back some strength and poise. Leaving the room and shrugging his shirt back on, he found his mother sipping tea and reading _The Daily Prophet_ in one of the East Wing's sitting rooms.

"You shouldn't read that shit," he commented, gesturing to the paper. "It's bad for you."

"Not much going on at the moment," she told him as he conjured himself a glass of water. "There's a small article about Hermione moving in with you."

"Must be a slow week," he concluded with a shake of his head.

"It does seem a bit fast for you," she said carefully, setting down the paper to give him a thoughtful stare.

"I have my reasons," he shrugged casually. "I thought you of all people would be happy about it."

"I am," she smiled briefly, before that knowing haze sole her eyes. "But I'm just wondering if it has anything to do with the two-hour outburst you just-

"It was just a workout," he defended loudly.

"What for, exactly?" she pressed.

"The case is getting to me. I needed to let off some steam."

It wasn't technically a lie. Hermione's letters were certainly related to the murders and it had certainly felt stressed. Clearly his mother's lie-radar wasn't flashing as she left it alone, and for that he was grateful.

"So when exactly is she moving in?" Narcissa questioned, her mouth tweaking in a satisfied grin.

"Tonight," he admitted begrudgingly, frowning when her smile stretched. "Wipe that smug look off your face, mother. It's really not becoming-

"I'm allowed to be happy for you," she rolled her eyes at him. "I think you are a very good couple and-

"Stop," he barked suddenly, but she missed his concentrated scowl.

"Draco, don't be so-

"No, I'm serious, Mum," he snapped quietly, giving her a strict look. "I thought I heard something. It sounded like the Floo."

Narcissa scowled at her son but stilled her words anyway, listening for any noise that would echo in the Manor's old walls. Sounds carried well in her antique home with the wonderful acoustics, but all she could hear was the sound of rain hammering against the windows.

"Maybe it's just...

She trailed off. She heard it then. Something close to a whimper from one of the rooms a few doors down. She paused her breaths, looking at her son whose face was stern in thought. If he'd heard it too he didn't give any indication and she was about to question him when another noise tore through the Manor's halls.

"Draco!"

The youngest blond was on his feet in a heartbeat, sprinting out the room to seek out the petrified and known voice. She followed close behind her son as the screams continued; constant calls of Draco's name that were ripe with panic. Draco whipped his body around the desired doorframe and froze.

His lover was there, on her knees and still screaming his name, her eyes clenched shut as she trembled like a newborn fawn. His eyes went straight to the blood. She was covered in it. It was on her face, her clothes, her skin, her hair. Just everywhere. And it felt like someone had punched his heart.

"Fuck," he spat as the shock wore off, racing towards her and falling to his knees. "Where are you bleeding?" he questioned with a raspy tone, his hands frantically moving over her. She calmed a little when she heard his voice, but her eyes remained closed and her breathing alarmed.

"Where are you bleeding?" he repeated, his tone harsh and impatient. His fingers tore at her clothes, pushing off her wet robes and ridding her of the scarlet-sodden blouse. She was left in her bra; the blood thickly staining her olive skin and he was starting to panic now. Why couldn't he find a wound? He growled like a feral wolf protecting its mate and grabbed her face between his now red-polished palms.

"Hermione," he hissed, and her doe-eyes snapped open, round and frightened. He realised then that she wasn't crying. She was going into shock. "You need to tell me where you're hurt or I can't-

"It's-it's not mine," she stuttered as her body started to seize up. "Penelope...my house."

Draco didn't feel a shred of guilt for being relieved. She was okay. The blood wasn't hers. That was all he cared about and if that made him selfish then so be it. He allowed himself to grasp her possessively against his chest, uncaring when the blood on her cheek smudged his. He was probably covered in it now but it didn't matter. There was no wound.

He allowed the vibrations of his lover's heartthrobs to quiver against his chest six times when reality slapped him in the face. He could hear his mother's concerned breaths behind him and Hermione's body was tensing dangerously, almost spasming. She was definitely going into shock.

"Mum," he called over his shoulder, beckoning her to leave the haven of the doorframe. He gathered Hermione's robes around her, just to cover her a little before he collected her in his arms and set her down on the nearby couch. "Just stay with her. I'll be back in a minute."

"Where the hell are you going?" the Malfoy Matriarch questioned her son with a strict tone, kneeling by the couch and brushing aside Hermione's blood-heavy hair with maternal instinct.

"I need to go to her house-

"No!" Hermione shouted, grabbing at Draco's robes with shaking fingers. "He could still be there, Draco! Call Shacklebolt and-

"This could be a chance to catch him," he told her forcefully, pushing away her pawing hands. "It could be too late by the time-

"No," she shook her head, trying to get up but her body wouldn't allow it. "Please don't go. Don't you dare leave me, Draco-

"I'll be back in a minute," he assured her, but she looked devastated and betrayed, like he'd told her he was never coming back. Another tremor shimmered up her body and then she grew weak, her panting erratic and disconcerting. "You're going into shock," he told her, but she was unconscious by the time he finished.

His breath was wedged in his throat. She was lying there; covered in blood and still. She looked dead. And if he had a soul, this sight had just stolen it.

"Draco," his mother's voice interrupted. "Maybe you shouldn't-

"Juts keep an eye on her and once I leave, make the firecall to Shacklebolt," he demanded, marching to the fireplace and leaving behind two very scared women. The only two women he gave a shit about. The thunder roared around him like an omen.

Hermione's home was dark so he quickly cast the _Lumos _spell, his eyes darting around her familiar sitting room. The silence was mocking and eerie and he took a hesitant step into the room, frowning when he heard the small splash. He looked down at the shimmery carpet of blood and his wide eyes settled on Penelope.

She had been stripped bare; naked and vulnerable with the predictable V mark scratched into her abdomen like a cattle-brand by a power-drunk hand. Her throat had been slit, deep enough that her head was snapped at an unnatural angle, almost decapitated.

Pale wasn't the word to describe the girl. She was death-white. Translucent. And the amount of blood around her told him why. She had been milked of her life and it surrounded her tauntingly.

She looked like a snowflake swimming in a rich Merlot.

He felt sick.

It had been a while since he'd been close to a death this fresh. The weight of dark magic was humid in the air and it made him claustrophobic. He could sense there was nobody else in the house and the Aurors would be here soon so he turned to leave. A small sound stopped him.

He spun back around, searching for the source of the small shuffle he'd heard. His eyes fixed on the small shadow a few feet to his left and he sighed in relief. He headed towards it, leaving crimson footsteps behind him as he reached for the confused animal. Just as he'd gathered Crookshanks in his arms, Hermione's fireplace thundered with the arrival of Kingsley.

"Be careful," Draco warned the tall man. "She's on the floor in front of you."

"Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt acknowledged, carefully walking around the blood as his eyes absorbed the messy scene. "Your mother warned me you might still be here."

"Are there others coming?" he asked, shifting the cat into a more comfortable position.

"Volan and Neville will be here in a minute," he explained, casting a quick anti-contamination spell on Hermione's lounge.

"I should be getting back then," the blond offered, glancing at Penelope's fractured form. "I'll leave you to do-

"It might be beneficial for you to stay for a few minutes," Shacklebolt suggested, muttering some more incantations that Draco didn't recognise. "You have worked closely on the case. Perhaps something will ring a bell. Just for ten minutes or so, Mr. Malfoy."

"Alright," he nodded hesitantly, just as Volan entered the room, closely followed by Neville.

They all acknowledged him after Kingsley explained his presence before they hastily started their work. Draco reluctantly realised that Longbottom was surprisingly professional as they began to photograph the scene with their charmed cameras, also using their wands to try and detect anomalies or the remains of dark spells. He could tell they were going to be a while. The room was carnage.

He slowly made his way around his lover's home, searching for anything out of the ordinary but everything seemed in place except for the broken corpse in her living room. He spent a full fifteen minutes examining the familiar surroundings but coming up short. He never once released Crookshanks.

Explaining to Kingsley that he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, he left the Aurors to their business and Flooed to his home first, settling down his lover's pet on a sofa before he headed back to the Manor.

The two women were in the same position he'd left them in except Hermione was awake looking more disturbed than he could comprehend. His mother approached him, nervously tucking back her blonde hair.

"I tried to take her for a bath," she explained sadly. "But she won't move."

"I'll take her to my house," he said quietly, shooting the other witch a concerned glance. "I want you to stay at one of your friend's tonight."

"That's not necessary-

"Stay at Skeeter's," he demanded with a no-nonsense tone. "So I know you're okay. Please, don't argue with me, mother."

She hesitated but gave her son a slow nod of surrender. "Alright," she sighed.

"Can you let down your anti-Apparition wards so I can take her home," he asked, walking over to Hermione. He tried not to be offended when she turned away from him and avoided his eyes but he tensed his jaw anyway. He could hear his mother finishing off the incantation so he plucked her from the couch, frowning when he noticed she was still trembling.

"I'll owl you in an hour or so," he told his mother before he Apparated them to his home.

Once they were in his sitting room, he felt her struggle against his hold and he looked at her questioningly. Her expression was a pained mixture of anguish and resentment, oddly enhanced by the rusty-brown smears on her face. She pushed against him, trying to get free from his hold so he clutched her tighter.

"Granger-

"Put me _down_," she hissed through her teeth, weakly trying to unclasp his hands. "Let me go, Draco-

"No," he said simply, heading upstairs carefully as she continued to struggle. He muttered a quick spell to start the bath while he walked to his bedroom and placed her on his bed. "You need to have a bath-

"I don't want a fucking bath," she snapped, trying to push past him but he held her down. "Leave me alone-

"What is wrong with you?"

"Let me go!" she shouted, feebly slapping at his chest.

"No," he repeated, trying his best to keep his voice calm. Her movements were distressed and panicky so he grabbed her wrists in one hand to keep her still, the other peeling away her blood-soaked robes. "You're having a bath."

"I said I don't want a bath!" she yelled, kicking against him as her tears finally spilled over her lids. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

He ignored her as he continued to remove her shoes and skirt, something he decided would have been near impossible if she hadn't been so drained of energy. Ever his determined lover though, she managed to land a few good hits that made him flinch. He attempted to undo her bra but gave up, heaving her into his arms again, bucking wildly to escape as he went to his bathroom. She was hysterical, screaming at him to let her go and clawing at his arms like a cornered kitten. He tried to place her in the bathtub but she latched on to him then, refusing to be placed in the water.

"Hermione," he growled at her. "Get into the bath."

"No," she argued, trying to sound defiant but it came out in a strangled sob.

With an agitated breath and a muttered _fuck this_, he climbed into the tub himself, fully-clothed and holding her in place. She thrashed around violently when she touched the water, spattering it over his floor as she tried get away. With fleeing tolerance, he manoeuvred her so his chest was pressed against her back, his strong arms locking her into position.

The water turned a murky pink around them as his lover continued to struggle and shout at him. He ignored her angry words as ten minutes drifted by and her yells slowly transformed into traumatised sobs. They echoed loudly off the tiles like an orchestra of pain, every one causing her body to quake violently with each strangled cry.

Through all this he just held her firmly to his chest, rocking her small frame back and forth as she wept like a forgotten child. She still tried to move away from him every few minutes, but the fight had left her, leaving behind a distraught witch who couldn't stop convulsing as she bled her tears.

"Stop fighting me," he whispered by her ear, and he sighed when he felt her relax in his arms.

Slowly, he began to wash her skin with his hands, brushing away her friend's blood as she carried on with her abandoned screams. He'd never heard anything like it. She sounded like she was being tortured and it was scratching at his brain like splintered fingers.

He did this for an hour, as the water turned cold and laden with red.

Her trembles and cries slowed into pathetic sniffles and chokes as he tried to rinse out her hair, realising he had probably never been so gentle with another human before. Deciding that she wouldn't move now, he _Accio_'d his wand and murmured a charm to clean the water and make it warm again.

He couldn't clean any more of her as she fluttered amongst her grief, so he leaned back and held her against him, palming the water and running it through her curls. She gurgled back another sob and then took a few deep breaths, preparing herself to speak.

"I asked you not leave me," she blurted, her voice thick with hurt. He grimaced at her words and paused his actions, resting his arm across her stomach.

"Is that why you're angry?" he asked her quietly, frowning when she gave a quick nod. "I had to-

"No," she stopped him. "I needed you and you just went. I begged you and you still left me."

"I could have caught him," he explained steadily.

"And if he had been there," she replied, her normal voice returning briefly. "You could have gotten yourself killed-

"I wouldn't have-

"You don't know that," she interrupted, her tone almost that determined sound he welcomed. But then it disappeared and the thickness of grief laced her words again. "My friend is _dead_, Draco. Another one. In my home. And I just turned around and ran-

"You were in shock," he reminded her, rubbing patterns against her skin.

"What king of Auror does that make me?" she continued, shaking her head at herself. "I'm so fucking useless-

"You're not useless-

"Do you think he knew?" she asked suddenly, her fingers grasping his hand. "Do you think he knew that I was moving to yours tonight?"

"I don't know," he breathed honestly.

"It's not fair," she whined, and he completely agreed with her.

He could hear her chewing her lip as the silence forced itself into the room. After a few moments, she slowly turned around so she could face him, the rose-tinted water lapping against the tub as she shifted. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks flushed, and Draco quickly reached up to stroke away the remaining blood-blotch on her skin.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, brushing aside his silvery fringe. "For hitting you and reacting the way I did-

"I'm sorry for leaving you," he rushed out the words before he thought better of them. He wondered if he regretted his comforting words, but any qualms he had dissipated when a sad smile stole her mouth.

"I'd like to get out of the bath now," she mumbled.

"Okay," he agreed, easing himself out the water and then bending to pick her up in his protective grip.

She didn't resist him this time but gratefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He placed her on his bed, ignoring the odd sensation of his sodden clothes as he retrieved one of her dressing-gowns from her unpacked boxes. Satisfied that she was reasonably comfortable, he undressed himself into a fresh pair of boxers and a loose t-shirt, using his wand to remove the wet trail he'd left behind.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, taking a sitting down by her feet.

"Can we just go to sleep?" she suggested, looking completely exhausted. It was barely seven in the evening but even he had to admit; the day's events had been extremely sanity straining.

"Alright," he nodded, rising from his bed. "I just need to owl my mother. I'll be back in a minute."

"Okay," she exhaled, tucking herself under the covers.

He headed downstairs and started scribbling a quick note for Narcissa when his fireplace started to hum. He peered into it and groaned at the floating he head he recognised. He really wasn't in the mood for this.

"What the fuck do you want, Potter?" Draco asked bluntly. "I'm not in the mood to be dealing with your shit right now-

"Kingsley told me that Hermione would be staying with you," Harry said, evidently trying to ignore Malfoy's scolding comments with some effort. "I just want to make sure she's okay-

"She's fine," he interjected, folding his arms across his chest. "We're just about to go to bed-

"I'd like to see her," he insisted. "I need to know how she is-

"Well you haven't given a fuck about her in the last few weeks," Draco spat, knowing that his tether had already taken a firm battering today. "There is no way in hell I'm letting you in my house-

"Draco," a feminine voice stopped him, and he frowned when he realised Hermione had joined him in the room, bunching the fabric of her robe nervously at her chest. "Can you let him in please?"

"Are you serious?" he arched an eyebrow at her as she slowly took a seat on his sofa. "He's been ignoring you for weeks, Granger."

"I know," she sighed, rubbing her weary gaze with still-shaking fingers. "But I want to know what he has to say."

"Fine," he snarled, waving his wand over his fireplace. If it had been any other day, he would have refused but she looked far too fragile to turn down at the moment. "It's ready, Potter."

Harry was in the room four seconds later, shortly accompanied by an unwelcome Ron. Hermione's eyes widened and Draco clenched his fists as he eyed the two men with building rage, particularly her ex-boyfriend. With the strides of a predator, the blond moved himself in between his lover and the two intruders, rising himself to his full height and glaring at the two with all the frustration he'd felt in the last week.

"I never agreed to you, Weasel-

"Shut up, Malfoy," the redhead scowled, his face flushing scarlet, and Hermione secretly decided she'd seen too much of that colour for one day.

"Harry, Ron," she gained their attention. "What do you want?"

"We just wanted to check you were okay," Harry said softly, moving towards her but thinking better of it when Draco snarled at him. "Kingsley explained what happened and we were worried."

"I'm fine," she lied, pleased that her lover was causing an obstruction. She wasn't in the right state to be smothered with hugs and consoling words; she really just wanted some rest. "I don't really want to discuss it now, I'm really tired and we were just going to bed-

"Don't stay here," Ron blurted, making the blond growl when he combined his remark with a step forward. "Stay at the Burrow. You know my family will-

"Fuck off, Weasley," Draco warned, his tone measured and low. "She lives here now-

"We can look after her," he challenged, daring another mindless step. "We know her better than-

"That's enough, Ron," Hermione sighed, massaging her temple. "I'm staying here-

"But-

"No buts," she said, rising to her unstable feet. "I live here now and I'm really tired. We can talk another time but not now. I can't."

"But, 'Mione-

"Goodnight," she finalised, heading out the door and leaving the three rival wizards alone.

"You've overstayed your welcome," Malfoy hissed at them, gesturing to his fireplace. "On your way."

Neither male said a parting word to the blond as they made their exits, and Draco quickly disconnected his Floo to avoid any further interruptions. He finished his letter to his mother and headed back up his room where Hermione was already settled in bed. He discarded his top and joined her, shifting his position when she made to lie her head on his chest.

"Can I ask you a question?" she mumbled against his pale skin.

"Yes."

"Can you stay awake until I fall asleep, please?" she asked quietly, and he could tell she was slightly embarrassed by her request.

"Okay," he nodded, brushing his lips against her forehead and stroking her side.

And he did. Even though her tears trickled down his torso until four in the morning and she whimpered like a fallen cub for the long and dark hours. Only when he was certain that her heavy breaths signalled a soothing slumber did he allow his own tired eyes to close.

He woke first in the late afternoon of Saturday, refusing to move until she roused three hours later. He made his way downstairs to fix them some food, and it was then that he discovered his first letter.

An invitation.

.

* * *

.

a/n: sorry...I know this chapter is rather short but I needed to end it there and I have a bunch of work to do this week so I wanted to get something up in case I didn't get another chance. It's only been three days for my last update...so some love for that?...No?

That chapter was quite hard to be honest so I hope it worked okay...I almost smoked my way to an early grave stressing about this...The wine helped though...

Anywho... I think my fave review was possibly from **redfox135 **for her advice and kind offer of more cigarettes! It's always nice to get a new reviewer too! Also want to give a massive thanks to **Serpent of Slytherin **who had given me a bunch of charming reviews and who I always enjoy hearing from. Thanks also for the 130+ people who have faved this...Wow. And also for pushing me past that 300 review mark!

Lend me your thoughts! Screw the pennies I'll give you quids!

**Next Chapter: Draco has his own problems...**


	25. Submission

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 25: Submission.

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She released a frustrated growl as she read the last line of the letter and hurled it away from her like it burned. She threw aside the covers, standing from the bed to pace his floorboards with agitated steps; her hands fisting in her unruly locks as her face scrunched in pure fury.

"For fuck's sake!" she shouted, her voice shaking with her ire. "This is ridiculous!"

"Calm yourself, Granger," he warned, eyeing her movements as he also stood. "You need-

"Don't tell me to be calm!" she retorted, tossing her arms in the air and shooting him a heated glance. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down when _that_ has just been sent to you-

"Well, having a bitch-fit isn't going to help," he remarked, trying to grab her to hold her still, but she avoided his reach. "Stop pacing!"

"No!" she yelled, swatting away his hands as she continued to fidget around the bedroom. "You weren't supposed to get any letters-

"Then clearly Pucey was wrong," he scowled as she yet avoided another attempt to catch her arms. "Stop bloody moving, Granger!"

"I can't believe this!" she ranted, screaming to herself now instead of him. "This is just a sick joke for-

"Stop!" he barked, finally managing to snatch one of her hands. "You're overreacting!"

She slapped him. Hard. And the sharp sound rang loudly in his ears as the throbbing buzz harassed his cheek. In a second, he had her small frame pushed against his wall with her hands pressed stiffly at her sides as he brought his face close to hers.

"Too far," he snarled, his breath smacking against her mouth. "I don't give a shit how angry-

But she quickly cut him off with a kiss so desperate it bruised.. It was obvious as her teeth scratched at his lips, and he released her arms for her to claw at his hair. He could feel her frustration, her _need _for an outlet. She had no desire for tenderness or consoling assurances with precious pecks of affection. No. She needed a fuck. Something primal and strong. And he needed it too.

Instinct and blood alone made him hard and he quickly hiked up her navy robe and dug his fingertips into her thighs as she cocooned his hips with her legs. He could feel her damp lust through his boxers and he ground his crotch into her, rearing them back for a second before roughly slamming her back against the wall, relishing the sound of the thud.

He did that again and it sounded like battle drums, as though preparing them for war instead of sex. And when she tore away his shirt and her fingernails coaxed blood from his back, he knew the bangs were appropriate.

"Now," she demanded, her hot breath lingering against his lips.

With a grunt, he shoved his hand between them and pushed down his boxers, just enough so his stretch of muscle could escape. He reached for her then, just gliding his thumb along her slit to encourage a hiss of approval before he gathered the flimsy material of her underwear to one side.

He hastily bucked into her, a groan tearing through his throat as her walls dragged him in deeper. She was tighter than normal from the lack of foreplay, and she was sinfully sodden. He didn't bother building a pace, just succumbing to his feral urge to pound into her with bestial thrusts.

He could taste blood in his mouth from where he must have split her lip with a bite. Or maybe it was his blood. It didn't matter. All that registered was the electric heat gripping his length and her carnal moans stuttering in his mouth.

The battle drums had barely played five minutes when he felt her begin to undulate around him, tearing her face away from his to arch her back against the wall and sing a shuddering score of screams.

Seven more powerful pumps into her still-spasming walls and the painfully sweet bliss thundered out of his loins and flooded her hollow. They collapsed to the floor, her clenching him tightly as their loud and ragged breaths clashed between them. He moved his head to rest against her shoulder, absently licking her ear as he swallowed back a snarl of satisfaction.

"Better?" he hummed against her sweat-clad throat.

"Much," she exhaled, nuzzling his cheek and nipping at his jawline. "I'm sorry for slapping you."

He gave her a small snort of amusement. "Well, at least you didn't break my nose this time."

"When did I-

"Third year."

.

* * *

.

Hermione read the words again. And then again. She slowly raised her eyes to Draco's blank expression with concern and silently wished she was as skilled at hiding her emotions. She'd read these words before, and they promised death despite the almost cordial invitation.

_No, not invitations. Ultimatums. _

She suppressed a shiver and gathered Draco's sheets a little tighter around herself as he sat near her feet, watching her face intently.

"He wants to meet you in Knockturn Alley," she commented with a low tone, handing the letter back to him. "Isn't that a little obvious?"

"It doesn't specify where," he shrugged, and she wanted to scold him for being so casual about this. "I'm assuming he just takes your presence as a sign that you want to continue and then sends more letters. I doubt there's an actual introduction. That would just be stupid."

"That's true," she agreed, pursing her lips in thought. "So what do you want to do?"

"I think I should go," he stated with another blasé shrug, as though it was obvious.

"Are you serious?" she gawked at him, squinting when he gave her stern nod. "Draco, you can't."

"Why the hell not?" he scowled, shifting on the bed. "I might spot him-

"You have no idea who it could be-

"Wrong," he stopped her. "I know it's Montague-

"No," she said, pushing her dishevelled curls out of her face. "You _think_ it's Montague, but you're basing that on a childhood grudge."

"Whatever," he scoffed, cocking an eyebrow when Crookshanks wandered into the room. "Still, I could recognise someone-

"Most of the people in Knockturn Alley are going to look dodgey," she pointed out as her ginger pet settled in the space between them.

"I still might notice something," he insisted, giving the cat his customary cold look.

"It could be a trap, Draco," she told him, her face serious and concentrated as she spoke. "In fact, I'm positive it's a trap! Have you forgotten what Adrian Pucey said to you? You shouldn't even have any letters because you are an obvious liability-

"But-

"If you'd had a letter before we came out as a couple," she continued, brushing aside his attempt to interrupt. "Then maybe it would have been an idea for you to go, but you are in a public relationship with a Muggle-born, and quite a famous one in case you hadn't noticed-

"If you do say so yourself," he muttered sarcastically.

"And," she ignored him. "It's public knowledge that you are one of the head investigators on the case so, unless this guy's been living in a cave, there is no way he couldn't know that-

"You're rambling-

"Also," she carried on with her rant, waving her hands around now to elaborate her point. "He probably knows you, Draco, and he's probably guessed that you would go and see what would happen-

"Granger-

"No," she finalised, slicing the air with her hand. "No way. It's obviously a trap and if you go, you would be playing right into his hand and that's just stupid, Draco-

"Alright!" he huffed, but a smirk was tugging at his lips as he regarded her. It was amazing what a quick shag could do. "Never thought I'd say this but it's good see your inner-bitch back, Granger."

She forced an offended look onto her worn features, but the flush that stole her cheeks made it less convincing. She realised then that she felt guilty, and not just for one thing. She felt like her tears should still be pouring for Penelope, and the pause in her mourning felt like betrayal.

She also felt like she had been nothing but Draco's burden for the last week between her secrets and breakdowns. She was furious with the way she had reacted yesterday, disappointed with her unprofessional behaviour and cowardly actions. She'd been around more death by the age of eighteen than most people would see in their average lives, and yet she'd had a panic attack.

Perhaps it had been the proximity of Penelope's corpse, or maybe it had just been the trauma of being covered in her friend's blood. But she knew it was likely that the events of the past few weeks had finally caught up with her, and her body and brain had failed to handle it.

"It feels strange," she told him softly, nervously petting Crookshanks. "To enjoy having an argument with you when she's barely been dead a day."

He cringed.

"Its been a...bad week," she murmured, tilting her head to one side. "Awful actually-

"Relax, Granger," he offered, deciding it was best to keep her distracted.

"I don't want anyone else to die," she whispered, her voice breaking a little. "I feel like such an idiot. When I was younger, I thought that once Voldemort was gone it would be the end of all this blood purity shit, but it's really not. He'll have been dead five years in May, and people are still getting killed for the same reasons."

He didn't know what to say to that because it was true. Yes, things had improved but they were far from perfect, and the world was deluded if they saw otherwise. Prejudices and racism weren't eradicated just because one dictator had been dealt with. He knew enough about Muggle and Wizard history to know that Voldemort hadn't been the first racist with a lust for blood and he certainly wouldn't be the last. It was inevitable.

He released a tired sigh when he realised how easily he could have turned into one of those people. How he'd been _designed _to be one of those people. And here he was, sharing his home and l...lust...well, more than lust...with someone who he had once wished dead.

Hypocrisy is such a ball-buster. Oddly comforting though.

"What do you suggest we do about the letter then?" he asked, gesturing to the parchment with hopes of drawing her away from her lament. Her expression twitched into a tenacious mask that looked far more at home than sadness, and he secretly applauded himself for successfully diverting her blue thoughts. And for releasing some of her frustration earlier.

"I need to release a statement to the press," she explained, ignoring his sceptical glance. "He obviously wants the letters to remain quiet so if we make them public knowledge it might aggravate him-

"You want to aggravate a psychopath?" he drawled in that stoic tone that suited him so well.

"I know it sounds rash," she conceded with a subtle frown. "But he's more likely to mess up if he's pissed off. We've tried everything else."

He considered her with his ash-grey stare before he gave a her a slow nod of agreement. "Alright," he exhaled, knowing she would be able to hear his doubt. "Your call, Granger."

"Okay," she graced him with a whisper of a smile. "I'll send some owls tomorrow and release a statement on Monday-

"Monday?" he repeated, giving her a disapproving glare. "I don't think you should go into work on Monday-

"Then what would you have me do?" she questioned, removing Crookshanks from her lap and setting him down. "Wallow here alone?"

"Nobody would judge you for having a day off," he remarked. "You're upset-

"I'm angry," she corrected, only just registering it herself. "And that's when I work best."

"Fine," he yielded, waving a dismissive hand at her. "If you say so, Granger."

"I need to figure out how he got into my house," she muttered suddenly, creasing her brow with thought.

"Could be a few things," he said, rising from the bed to stretch his limbs. "He could have known Clearwater or just spent a lot of time breaking your wards. My personal guess is he's used Legilimency on you so he knows how you cast your wards. Remember you told me you felt like someone was rooting around your brain?"

"I guess you're right," she breathed with a small grimace. "Does that mean your house might not be safe?"

"Snape started teaching me Occlumency when I was thirteen," he explained, heading out of the room. "All of the thoughts in my head are safe. I'm going to get some coffee."

"I'm going to see Ron and Harry tomorrow," she blurted quickly, and he paused his exit. "I know they haven't been brilliant these last few weeks-

"Massive understatement-

"But I miss them," she confessed with a tired sigh. "And I need them right now."

There was something loudly disconcerting about hearing his girlfriend state that she needed two other men, but he reminded himself that he had known of their intense friendship when he had first started to pursue Hermione. Still, it had been nice having her to himself for the last few weeks without any interference from Immortal Git and the ginger tumour firmly attached to his side, even if it did sometimes dampen affect mood.

"And?" he questioned, not trusting himself to say anything else.

"I just thought I should tell you," she murmured. "I'll visit them tomorrow-

"No," he hushed her, pausing to frown. "If you go to the Hole, or whatever Weasley's bloody dump is called, then you're doing exactly what he asked-

"I'm not going to stay there for long," she reasoned. "Just until we have sorted something out-

"That could take hours," he glowered, his words laced with contempt. "And then he'll tell you to stay the night-

"No he won't-

"Too right he won't," he spat, giving her a pointed look. "Because you're not going to the Hole."

"It's called the Burrow," she muttered, rolling her tawny eyes. "Fine then, I'll ask them to meet me at a café or something-

"Also stupid," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "The press will be all over you because they'll know that there's been another murder by now, and that it happened in your home."

She sucked in a breath. Sometimes, she really hated his blunt attitude. "Right," she pushed the word past her tense lips. "Then where exactly do you suggest I meet them?"

He hesitated and looked away from her, muttering something inaudible to himself and balling his fists. She'd seen this routine before and knew it meant he was preparing to say something that he'd decided was too...well...anti-Malfoy.

"Tell them to come here," he mumbled finally and she barely concealed her gasp. "I want to be able to reach you if I have to, and I'm sure their wards won't be particularly welcoming to me."

"I didn't think you'd want to be around when I talk to them-

"I don't," he admitted, grinding his teeth as his thoughts continued to mull around her two best friends. "I'll wait in another room. And you'd better shout me if Weasley tries anything-

"He's not going try anything, Draco-

"Well, his comment last night said otherwise," he sneered, unable to hold back the bitter tang. "Potter's not the problem, Granger; it's Weasley who pisses me off. Coming to my house and fucking-

"Draco," she said with a shadow of amusement. "There's really no reason be jealous-

"I am not jealous!" he cut in quickly, his silver-slate stare hard and agitated. "The day a Malfoy envies a bloody Weasley will be my last. I just can't stand or trust him, especially around you. And it doesn't help his case when he barges into my house and demands that you leave with him-

"I'll talk to him," she held up her hand in understanding. "Ron just has a nasty habit of speaking without thinking-

"I could really care less," he snapped, making to leave his bedroom again. "You say what you need to say and then get him and Potter to leave. I don't want them in my home any longer than is necessary."

"Understood," she nodded, smothering a private grin. "Thank you, Draco."

"Don't mention it," he scowled over his shoulder. "Ever."

.

* * *

.

On Sunday evening, she was relaxing in a scruffy pair of jeans and one of Malfoy's baggy t-shirts, oblivious that he had purposefully given her a green one. Hermione had sent her letters to Harry and Ron yesterday and was expecting them within the hour, even though she'd never received a reply. To keep herself busy she had decided she would set up her television in Draco's sitting room, much to the irritation of her blond lover, who was currently sat on the couch and watching her with condescending eyes.

"Stupid Muggle contraption," he muttered when she almost tripped on its wiring. "Is it really worth it?"

"Oh hush," she scolded, trying to remain dignified when she almost fell again. "I will get you addicted to _EastEnders _if it kills me-

"Not likely," he scoffed.

"There must have been one programme you liked?" she asked, counting the list of shows she had forced him to watch when he'd stayed at her house. She surmised there were about twenty, and she watched him hopefully as he contemplated her question.

"That one with all the questions was tolerable," he offered with some reluctance. "With that toff bloke who's really clever-

"Oh, _QI_?" she confirmed her eyes beaming for a brief moment. "That's my favourite! Stephen Fry is my hero! I'm glad you like that."

"I said it was okay," he mumbled, but thought better of making a derogatory comment when he realised it was the first time she had smiled for a while. "What time are Potter and Weasley coming round?"

"Any time now," she said, clapping her hands in triumph when the screen hummed to life. "Yes! Told you I would do it!"

"Congratulations," he groaned, squinting his eyes as the harsh lights adjusted and she made her way to the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"I think I want a glass of wine to calm my nerves," she explained, tottering past him in bare feet. "You want anything?"

"Firewhiskey," he requested, scowling when he realised the images on the screen were from one of those _Soap Opera _things she was so fond of.

He couldn't for the life of him understand the connection between bathing and singing and what it had to with the mundane programmes. Strange Muggles.

The glaring images only managed to hold his attention for all of five seconds when his fireplace rumbled with activity. Draco couldn't stop the throaty grumble that vibrated in the back of his mouth when Harry Potter stumbled into his sitting room. The green eyes instantly connected with his stormy-grey ones and he quickly schooled his expression into one of patronising impatience.

"Malfoy," the dark-haired wizard greeted through tense lips, awkwardly shifting his feet.

The blond just exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes, tilting his head over his shoulder to shout for the reason he was allowing the two irritating men into his home. "Granger," he called, slowly turning his head back to give Potter a scolding glance. "One half of the idiots has arrived."

He eyed the other man who was obviously struggling to think of a retort, listening to her soft steps and flinching when her playful palm smacked the back of his head. He shot her an unimpressed glance but acknowledged that he probably hadn't helped the matter. She was cradling her glass of ruby wine and he could see the liquid sloshing as her hand lightly shook with nerves.

"Hi Harry," she greeted her friend softly, slowly sitting next to Draco before she turned to him. "I left your drink in the kitchen."

"Alright," he nodded, giving her knee a quick squeeze before he stood. He briefly considered ignoring his previous condition to not be involved with the discussion, but reminded himself that he had already insulted one of her friends and things would probably only deteriorate from there.

"Malfoy's not staying?" Harry asked the witch with a confused tone.

"I'll be around, Potter," he answered for her, catching his girlfriend's eyes with a sarcastic stare. "Enjoy the...enthralling company-

"Draco-

"Just needed to get it out my system," he said with a casual shrug before he continued out of the room. In spite of herself, Hermione felt an amused pull at the corner of her lips, but she smothered it to give her companion an unsure look.

"You can sit down, Harry," she told him. "He hasn't hexed the furniture."

"I'm sure he thought about it," he commented as he took the sofa opposite hers, and she wasn't sure if his comment had been scolding or a light jest.

"Should we wait for Ron?" she asked, hating the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"I think we should."

"Then can I get you a drink or something?" she offered for lack of anything else to say. She had already prepared a small portion of butterbeer, deciding that adding Firewhiskey to the situation wouldn't end well between Ron's temper and Harry's habit of nodding off.

"Not right now," he declined, pausing for a moment. "How are you feeling, Hermione?"

"I'm okay," she lied, knowing he was referring to Penelope. "It was a bit of a shock."

"I know you'd gotten quite close," he said with a sad expression. "It must have been awful and I'm sorry about that."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"This is why I hate not speaking to you, 'Mione," he said in a rushed breath. "I was so worried about you when Kingsley explained what happened. We came as soon as we heard, I promise."

"I know you did," she offered him a broken smile. "And I'm sorry I told you to leave but there'd been enough shit in one day without Ron screaming at Draco-

"I know," he nodded, wrinkling his nose. "But you have to understand where Ron's coming from, 'Mione."

"Do I?" she asked, sounding more upset than sad. "I know that Draco was awful in school, but that was nearly five years ago, Harry. Doesn't it seem a bit petty that we can't move on?"

Any reply that her friend would have offered was drowned with Ron's arrival, and she watched her flustered ex-boyfriend closely as he took a seat next to Harry. She felt the anxious butterflies in her stomach treble with his presence and she glanced down at her lap to gather her wits, also taking a tentative sip of her wine.

"Would you like a drink, Ron?" she questioned.

"I'm fine," he muttered, shooting her an agitated look. "Let's just get this over with."

"Can we be mature about this?" Hermione scolded, trying to keep her tone low. "I didn't invite you here so we could have another slanging match. I wanted us to have a real talk about this-

"Just us three?" the copper-haired wizard sounded sceptical. "Where's Malfoy?"

"He's in the other room-

"So he's not joining us?" he surmised with harsh tone. "Nice to know he's supportive."

"I though it was best it was just us," she ignored his sarcasm.

"Right," Ron scowled, evidently unconvinced. "Well at least I don't have to look at the twat-

"Ron," Harry addressed his friend with a tired voice. "Let's just relax and talk about this properly."

"Fine," he conceded with a little difficulty, casting his snowy-blue gaze to his ex-lover. "Sorry 'Mione, I know you've had a rough few days. Carry on."

Hermione couldn't help but sigh. "I miss you both," she confessed, calmed when Ron's face softened slightly. "I don't want to keep fighting with you. It's not right."

"We miss you too," Harry told her, but she kept her eyes on her ex. "This is just a bit...unexpected."

"_Wrong_ is the word I'm thinking of," the redhead mumbled. "I just don't understand how you can be near him, 'Mione. He's a bully and a prick-

"He _was_," she corrected. "But he's changed-

"Nobody can change that much-

"How would you know?" she fired back, shaking her head. "You haven't given him the time of day-

"Some people don't deserve it," he muttered, clicking his tongue. "I hate him, 'Mione. Always have, always will."

"Hate?" she repeated, her eyebrows knitting together. "Don't you think hate's a bit extreme?"

"No." And the word sounded like lead.

"I see," she frowned, giving Harry a hopeful look. "What about you, Harry?"

He looked away from her for a moment, closing his eyes to consider her question. "I suppose I don't _hate_ him," he muttered uncomfortably.

"Well I do," Ron proclaimed, almost like he was proud of it.

"More than you love me?" she questioned, hating that her tone almost sounded pleading now.

"That's not fair," he said, taking a deep breath before he continued. "You know how much you mean to me."

"Then please try and come to terms with this," the witch sighed, her eyes flickering between the pair. "I'm not asking you to get on with him or even talk with him. I'm just asking you to accept that I am in a relationship with Draco and not let it affect our friendship. Please?"

A sullen silence slipped between her and the two men, heavy enough that she thought she might be able to reach out and feel it tingle against her fingers. She teased her lip between her teeth as they tested various facial expressions to match their thoughts, fluctuating between doubt, rejection and reasoning.

"I suppose," Harry chased away the quiet with a hesitant grimace. "That I can accept it-

"What?" the other wizard snapped his glare over to his companion. "You can't be serious, Harry?"

"I am," he nodded, looking up to catch the brunette's grateful smile. "We've never questioned her judgement before-

"Because we had no reason to!" Ron raised his voice. "But this is beyond!"

"I didn't say I was happy with it," he argued, shifting his green eyes to the redhead. "But she's right; we shouldn't let it affect our friendship with her-

"Well if she would just break up with him it wouldn't affect our friendship-

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she told Ron with a slight growl. "Can't you just get over this like I have?"

"No, Hermione," he spat, and she could tell his temper was starting to rise. "You didn't get over him, you got under him-

"Ron," Harry cringed, sensing her offence. "Calm down-

"Why should I calm down?" he demanded. "She wanted to talk; let's talk! You can butter Malfoy up all you like, 'Mione, but I will never be happy with this-

"I said I didn't need you to be happy with it!" she reminded him harshly. "I asked you to _deal _with it and behave like an adult-

"Well I don't see why I should!" he countered, rising from his seat to stare her down. "When he screws you over we're the ones who are going to have to pick up the pieces-

"_If_ he screws me over!" she shouted, also jumping up from her seat. "And that's irrelevant, Ron! Do you really hate Draco more than you love me?"

"Of course not," he mumbled, the fire in his face disappearing slowly.

"Then please," she begged, walking towards him so she could grab one of his hands. "Please don't fight me any more. I hate arguing with you like this but I shouldn't have to give up someone just because you don't agree with it. I don't want to lose you."

She knew she was dramatising it a little, but years of learning Ron's cogs and mechanics meant that she knew what buttons to press. It may have been a little manipulative, but she was desperate to win some level of reconciliation before her two best friends left. She needed them right now; both of them.

"You could never lose me," he said begrudgingly, but her heart soared anyway. She clutched his hand a little tighter with gratitude as he continued. "I suppose...

But he trailed off when the fireplace rumbled again, announcing another guest.

.

* * *

.

a/n: I know this is a bit of a filler chapter but I hope it was okay! The reviews for the last chapter were wonderful...simply amazing...I don't know how to tell you how much I love reading them...and yes they are reread obsessively, usually during the early hours of the morning accompanied by my standard vino. And yes...wine and cigarettes are the official sponsors of this chapter too.

**Lovelydove21, **your review in particular was reread to the point of memorising it! Also chuffed to have a few new reviewers pop up with charming comments so ta very much! And for the people who have been reviewing for a while...I have nothing but love for you! And an offer of free wine if you ever find yourself wandering the British countryside!

Right, its almost half four...and there's sod all on TV so I should really hit the hay before I decide there's no point and just avoid sleep all together...never pretty...

Update, as always, should be up in 4-7 days...

**Next Chapter: Draco loses his temper when he decides to make a little visit... **


	26. Visits

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 26: Visits.

.

Hermione offered him a polite smile but it turned into a frown when she heard Ron mumble something derogatory under his breath.

"Blaise," she greeted, but her agitated expression hardened when she felt her friend yanking on her arm. She gave him a confused glance and realised he was trying to pull her back protectively, sizing up the other wizard. With a warning stare at her rusty ex-boyfriend, she tore her hand out of his fist and offered Blaise an apologetic look.

"Granger," he nodded, shooting a suspicious glare at her two companions. "Are you alright?"

"We're fine," she said, but it was unconvincing when she had to give Ron another shove for trying to shield her. "I think Draco's in the kitchen."

"Okay," he replied, giving the two men another unsure look before he headed to the other room.

"So, do you have all Slytherins playing your bodyguards now?" Blaise heard Weasley mutter.

He contemplated turning around to give the redhead a piece of his mind, but he could already hear Granger's quick retort and decided to leave it. Wandering into the kitchen, he found Draco slumped over what he could only assume was his Ministry work, tapping his fingers against a tumbler of Firewhiskey.

"You do know there's a gathering of Gryffindors in your front room?" he remarked, gaining the blond's attention.

"Blaise," Draco acknowledged, setting down his quill. "Yes, I had noticed."

"What exactly are they doing here?"

"Well, surely Granger's pretty obvious," he shrugged, gesturing for his fiend to take a seat.

"Yes," Blaise rolled his eyes. "I heard that she was moving in with you. I meant Potter and Weasley."

"She's trying to convince them I'm not a prick so they can be all chummy again," he answered nonchalantly. "Don't ask me why. I'm not entirely sure how Potter and Weasley could be valuable in anybody's life."

"And you let them have this little meeting in your house?" he asked sceptically, realising that his old friend looked sufficiently drained.

"The alternative was less appealing," he said, pouring a second glass of Ogden's for Blaise. "Did things look okay, or do I have to intervene?"

"Fine, I guess," he mumbled, resting the glass against his lips. "Weasley looked a bit agitated and was trying to manhandle her but she had it under control-

"Define 'manhandle,'" Draco demanded, arching one of his eyebrows.

"Nothing really," he offered, analysing his friend's face closely. "He just tried to pull her away from me when I came in."

"What a twat," he breathed the insult with ease. "Did they look like they were close to finishing?"

"No idea."

"For fuck's sake," he grumbled, taking a swig of his drink. "If they're still here at ten I'm kicking them out. I need an early night."

"You're going to bed at ten?" Blaise sounded amused, glancing at the clock. "Living life on the edge there, Malfoy?"

"I'm bloody shattered," he confessed, rubbing his bag-clad eyes. "The last couple of days have been shit and work's going to be rough tomorrow."

"I read about Clearwater," he mumbled, giving his friend a pointed look. "Granger actually looks okay in spite of everything."

"Well, she was a bloody mess when it happened," he replied honestly, shaking his head as he recalled her initial reaction. "But she'll be fine. I'm sure she's seen worse."

"Sure," Blaise almost looked concerned.

"It was fucked up though," Draco said slowly, cringing as the image flashed across his eyelids. "Clearwater looked like someone had literally pumped out all her blood and then just spread it around her-

"You saw her?"

"I went back to see if I could find anything unusual," he supplied. "But there was nothing."

"Bugger," the dark wizard muttered, taking a long sip of his Firewhiskey.

"And I got a letter yesterday," Draco revealed, watching Blaise's eyebrows wise. "Same invitations all the others got."

"You don't seem too bothered about it," he commented after a small pause.

"I'm not," he shrugged, although his tone sounded more convinced than he actually was. "Can't do much about it. Anyway, Granger's meeting with the press-

"What the hell?" Blaise exclaimed suddenly, shooting a puzzled look at his feet. Draco glanced down and chuckled when he noticed Crookshanks pawing at his companion's leg. "What the fuck is this?" Blaise snapped, trying to brush away the cat's claws with little success.

"Granger's pet," Draco answered, absently clicking his fingers and feeling a little stunned when the scruffy creature actually unlatched itself from the other man's leg and made its way towards him. His bemused expression hardened when the half-kneazle jumped onto his lap with a loyal purr and nuzzled at his arm.

Blaise eyed the animal with cold eyes. "Stupid bloody...

But he trailed off as Hermione entered the kitchen and gave Draco a sceptical glance when she realised her beloved pet was curling up on his lap. "Don't tell me you're actually starting to like Crookshanks?"

"Hardly," her lover frowned, purposefully refusing to put his hands anywhere near the cat. "He was scratching Blaise."

"Oh sorry," she apologised, cringing when she noticed the small tears in his trousers. "He's not very good with strangers."

"No worries," he assured her, removing his wand and casting a silent _Reparo_. "See, no harm done."

"Can you get the fleabag off my lap?" Draco requested with an irritated tone.

"Fine" she rolled her eyes, gathering her pet in her arms and intending to settle him in the sitting room. She frowned when her cat gave a hearty hiss to Blaise as she moved past him. "Crookshanks!" she scolded, setting the cat down outside the kitchen door. "Sorry, Blaise. He must be in a bad mood."

"No, that cat's just psychotic," Draco mumbled, ignoring Hermione's offended look. "So, how did it go with Potter and Weasley?"

"Okay, I think," she replied with evident uncertainty. "They still hate you, but they like me again."

"That sounds about right," he surmised, watching his witch closely as she topped up her wine. "And it will have to do because they're not coming back here. Bloody Gryffindors-

"Hey!" she interrupted, placing a hand on her hip. "I'm a Gryffindor you prat."

"Such a shame," Blaise commented with a confident smirk. "And you look so good in green too."

Draco felt his lip twitch, and his stare narrowed. It was an instinct now; to shoot a cold glare whenever a male offered his lover a too-charming compliment. His ashy eyes automatically turned cold and callous, but it was the telling grip on his wand that made him falter.

Despite Hermione's Muggle phrase; looks most certainly do not kill.

But wands and words do, and he had some itching on the end on his tongue.

As he'd already established; it was instinct. Something primal and territorial that stirred without warning.

He shook his head for a second and gave himself a secret scolding for being so tense. Hermione's plight in the last few weeks had made him a little too conscious and snappy to defend her, and clearly he had lost himself for a moment. It was only bloody Blaise.

"Did you give me a green top on purpose?" she questioned, raising a slender eyebrow at him and luring him back. "I can't believe I didn't notice."

"Come now, Granger," he gave her a sly grin, his previous dark thoughts forgotten. "Do you honestly think me that conniving?"

"Yes," she smiled, finishing off her wine. "You _were_ in Slytherin, Draco."

"Don't act so innocent," he argued, his tone almost playful. "We both know you can be a devious witch when it suits you."

"Ah, yes," she sighed with a little laugh. "Are you implying that I would have made a good Slytherin, Draco? Except for the bad blood and all that pesky integrity?"

He gave her a husky chuckle as her smile stretched. They had long since realised that they could crack a harmless joke about the blood prejudices now. She'd even made a few jests before they had started a relationship, and while he had been initially reluctant to respond to her quips, he had no trouble with it now. A glance at Blaise told him that his friend looked a little awkward about it but he figured that was normal.

He managed to resist the look of fondness that almost stole his face when a charming little moan accompanied her yawn. He caught the sadness that stained her features just before she tried to hide it by rubbing her eyes.

"I think I'm off to bed then," she mumbled, combing her fingers through her hair. "It's been a long day."

"It's only half nine," Blaise commented.

"I know," she sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "But I'm knackered. I think I might have a bath actually."

"I won't be long," Draco told her, silently grateful that she hadn't been overly affectionate to him in his Blaise's presence. "Sorry, Blaise. Rough week and all that-

"Don't rush," she said, offering their guest a parting nod. "You enjoy your man chat and I'll see you in a bit. Goodnight, Blaise."

"Goodnight, Granger," he replied, but she was already out the room.

"What did you want, Zabini?" the blond asked, perhaps a little too agitated. "No offence but I'm shattered and I'll be off in a few minutes."

"Nothing in particular," he shrugged, sipping at his Firewhiskey. "It's been a couple of weeks since I've been round and quite a bit has happened since then."

"You don't know the half of it, mate," he replied, but then revised his response when he remembered he wasn't supposed to mention his girlfriend's letters to anyone. He hadn't even told his mother at Hermione's request.

"Like what?" the dark wizard asked.

"Well, the Clearwater incident," he stated in a tone that reminded Blaise it was obvious. "And there's been a few other things with case. I think Granger's getting a little impatient now because she's talking the press tomorrow."

"What about?"

"About the letters the victims got," he explained, frowning as he thought about his own letter. "When I got mine yesterday I think it upset her a bit. Anyway, she's hoping some people might come forward if she makes it more public."

"Maybe," Blaise answered with a doubtful tone. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing. I thought Pucey told you that you wouldn't get any letters?"

"Clearly Pucey's full of shit," he growled, finishing off his drink. "I should have known better than to believe anything that prick said. Bloody hell, I'm shattered."

"You do look like shit," Blaise said with a straight face and a small nod.

"Then I should go get some rest," the pale wizard decided. "Sorry, mate. You should have come earlier."

"Fair point," he nodded, downing the remainder of his own beverage. "Pop over tomorrow if you get a chance. You're turning into an anti-social bastard, Malfoy."

"I barely have time to be sociable," Draco squinted his grey eyes. "But yes, if I can steal an hour or something I'll owl you. Can you let yourself out?"

"Always do," he sighed, rising from the table. "I'm trying to organise another Quidditch game with the lads from the office. Interested?"

"Maybe," he nodded as his friend left the room. "Let me know when."

"Will do," he muttered as he retreated to the sitting room. "Enjoy your bath-time with Granger."

Draco was about to blurt a witty retort but the customary growl of the fireplace drowned out anything he would have said. He cocked an eyebrow at Blaise's abrupt exit and parting comment but shrugged it off, reasoning it was typical of his behaviour. Heading upstairs to his room, his eyes went to the closed door of his en suite and he observed the small haze of steam seeping into his bedroom.

He didn't bother knocking.

With silent steps, he neared his witch, whose eyes were sealed in thoughtful relaxation. Her ignorance to his presence made her that much more alluring, especially when the heat of the water had roused a rosy tint to her skin. It was similar to her post-coital flush but it was laced with a subtle innocence and vulnerability that tugged at his stomach.

He simply studied her for a moment, mesmerized by how her chest would dip in and out of the foamy liquid with her steady breaths. He decided to make himself known and absently reached across to brush a stray strand of hair on her forehead. She jerked away but her walnut eyes instantly calmed when she saw him and she gave him a sleepy smile.

"That was quick," she breathed, her voice raspy with fatigue. "Everything okay?"

"An early night sounded good," he said, resting his weight against the tub and working at the buttons of his shirt. "Make some room."

She graced him with a feminine giggle and watched with those ever inquisitive and appreciative eyes as he stripped himself bare. He settled himself behind her and raked his distracted fingers through her drenched curls as she relaxed against his chest.

"So, what did Blaise want?"

"Just a chat," he answered, adjusting her against his body.

"He seemed a little tense tonight," she mentioned as an afterthought. "Everything okay?"

"It's getting close to Christmas," Draco muttered, wrinkling his nose when he knew she would want more information. "His mother died three years ago just before Christmas."

"That's sad," his lover said quietly, pausing to wonder if her next question was appropriate. "Were the rumours in Hogwarts true? About the six husbands?"

"Seven," he corrected.

"How did she die?"

"Same guy who killed my father," he revealed with a steady tone, ignoring her small gasp. "It's alright, Granger."

"I didn't know-

"There's no way you could have known," he hushed her quickly, instantly despising the inevitable flow of this conversation. He could feel her anxious pulse humming against him and her hesitant silence was telling enough.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked finally.

"Fuck no," he scoffed with a slight chuckle, feeling her instantly relax. "If I wanted a counsellor, I'd hire one."

"If you say so," she muttered, turning to give his collarbone a grateful nip.

"You seem better today," he told her, even though he knew she'd had several private cries during the day. A few smiles had blessed her mouth and although they'd been few and far between, like sun rays in a storm, his mind had been eased by them.

"I think the talk with Harry and Ron helped a little," she whispered, basking in the lulling throbs of his heartbeat. "Maybe this is a sign that things will get better."

"Don't get your hopes up, Granger," he advised, stroking her stomach under the water. "I thought you didn't believe in all that 'signs' nonsense."

"I don't," she agreed with a dejected sigh. "But the whole fate idea just seems like a nice concept at times like these."

He hated that word. Fate.

Otherwise known as the optimist's salvation. Or the pessimist's joke.

It didn't take a Seer to establish which group he belonged to.

"It's a bit too whimsical for you," he muttered, resting his chin against her head.

"Perhaps," she said, tracing tracks with her fingernails over his legs. "I'm glad I've talked about us with them though. I told Harry about my meeting with the press tomorrow-

"You didn't tell him I'd had a letter did you?" he stopped her. There was something rather unsettling about the Invincible Prat knowing he'd received the killer's ultimatum.

"No," she assured him. "I just said that we'd be telling the journalists about the letters we found to the victims. I hope that will be enough."

"Blaise and I were discussing the letters," he said, frowning when he felt her tense. "And no, I haven't mentioned yours to anyone before you ask."

"Did you tell him about yours?"

"Yes," he murmured against her hair. "Do you think anyone will come forward?"

"I hope so," she confessed, tilting her head to give his chest a small peck. "We're running out of options. I've asked Harry to continue observing that list you gave us. Other than that I don't know what else we can do."

"I might contact Warrington again to see if he's had any luck."

"That's a good idea," she approved, releasing a small moan when his fingers brushed her sensitive sides. "I need to go to the Auror Office after I talk to the press tomorrow, but I won't be too long."

"Alright," he said, moving his lips to her shoulder and ghosting barely-there kisses against her skin. "And you're sure you want to go back to work tomorrow?"

"I think it's pretty obvious we can't afford to take a day off," she pointed out, shifting so she could face him. "At least now I'm living with you we don't have to arrange times to work extra in the evenings and weekends."

"Sure," he rolled his sarcastic eyes at her. "_That's_ the main advantage to this arrangement."

"I was just saying," she gave him a weak smile, leaning in to give his bottom lip a slow suck. "I think I'm ready for bed now."

.

* * *

.

Hermione had released her statement to the press on Monday and had narrowly avoided a duel with Skeeter when the nosy woman had decided to push her buttons. Draco had been eating lunch with Blaise when he'd received an urgent owl from Tilly, warning him that his girlfriend had taken to hexing various objects in his office.

He'd extended his lunch by thirty minutes and had returned to find her sheepishly repairing the damage and muttering obscenities under her breath about his mother's intrusive friend. It was odd, but he had simply felt relieved that she was acting more like her argumentative and fiery self.

In was now Tuesday, and Draco was watching his lover closely as she examined Potter's account of Peregrine Derrick's actions in the last few days.

"I'm assuming by that look on your face that Potter hasn't seen anything useful?" he asked, setting down the Trace Reports for a moment.

"Not a thing," she said, clicking her tongue in disappointment. "I don't suppose you can think of anyone else?"

"No," he gave her a slight frown. "You know it isn't just the Slytherins who have blood prejudices, Granger. We all read about Stephen Cornfoot's involvement with an anti-Muggle group."

"Touché," she mumbled, cringing as she recalled that particular debacle. "Merlin, that was a shock."

"Exactly," he mocked her with knowing eyes. "Everyone's always so quick to assume it's a Slytherin. Don't you find it a bit odd that people are so quick to judge the house that are supposed to be judgemental? I hate hypocrites."

"Right," she grinned at his miniature rant. "We should break for lunch. _Cambria_ sound okay?"

"Fine," he nodded, rising from his seat when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in."

"Sorry," Neville popped his head into the room. "Hermione, you should come to the Auror Offices."

"Is everything okay?" she asked, noticing that her old schoolmate didn't look particularly concerned. If anything, her fellow Auror looked rather cheerful.

"Promising news," he smiled at her. "A bloke just came in; said he's been getting the letters. I thought you might want to handle it-

"Yes!" she beamed, giving a little clap of triumph. "Of course, just keep him there and I'll be five minutes." Neville gave her a parting grin and she waited until he'd left before she literally jumped on Draco and smothered his mouth with a kiss laces with success.

"Pleased?" he smirked at her when she pulled away, clutching her thighs against his hips.

"I'm bloody ecstatic," she beamed against his lips. "Maybe things are looking up."

"Ever the optimist," he taunted, releasing her legs. "Do you want to wait for lunch then?"

"No, you go ahead," she told him, quickly gathering some of her belongings. "I have no idea how long this is going to take."

"I'll go to the Manor then," he decided, catching her bottom lip between his teeth for a second before she turned to leave. "Fill me in when you get back."

"Will do," she called over her shoulder as she hurried out the room.

He indulged in a private grin at her excited conduct but shook it off when he decided he was possibly being too...observant. He had shaken off a lot of thoughts and expressions recently, and he knew it meant he was becoming less guarded around her. Relationship or not, his Malfoy-esque cynicism and stoicism needed to remain in place. He would have to keep an eye on that.

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* * *

.

Lunch with his mother had been predictably irritating when the meddling woman had insisted on interrogating him, yet again, about his relationship with Ganger. When she had finally remembered that her son was hardly one for gushing sentimental sonnets, she had then gone on to ramble about her annual Christmas Party and had insisted he bring Hermione.

As if he would have brought someone else. Foolish woman.

He strolled back to his office, giving Tilly a small nod of greeting. "Is Granger back from the Auror Department yet?" he asked the older woman.

"No," she shook her head. "But Mafalda let some more Trace Reports for you."

"Fine," he muttered, scanning her desk with a frown when he realised how disorganised it was. "Any messages?"

"Just one for Hermione," she replied, rummaging through the chaos to find the appropriate note. "Some guy dropped in and left his details for her to get back to him."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did he leave a name?"

"One second," she mumbled, smiling when her fingers latched around the small piece of parchment. "Here we go; yes, Graham Montague."

The blond's pale face instantly darkened and he felt the vein in his neck twitch. His lip curled in a silent snarl as the name made his brain swell with familiar fury, to the point that it physically hurt. His jaw clicked as he ground his teeth and he willed himself to take a calming breath.

But the calming breath evaded him, shrouded under the weight of the powerful anger. And it really did feel powerful; like liquid-quartz was flooding his pores. All he could think about was the sheer _gall _of Montague, and it was rising bile and dangerous thoughts.

"Mr. Malfoy," Tilly's voice snatched him back to reality for a second. "Are you okay? You look a little ill-

"Keep taking my messages," he told her, marching away with hard strides. "If Granger asks, I've gone out."

He didn't give his secretary a moment to reply as he charged through the Ministry with an expression like lava. He received a few odd looks but nobody questioned him or even dared to look at him as he headed to the Floo network. He near-roared his destination with a voice he barely recognised; Montague Manor.

He'd never been there before but he searched the rooms with an angry confidence that felt eerily familiar. Time didn't erode the rage but it was the eighth door that proved successful, and Graham Montague jumped when the blond intruder barged into the study. Draco cleared the room in the shadow of a second and pumped his fist into the other wizard's face, relishing the satisfying crunch and the gasp of pain.

"What the fuck do you think you are playing at?" he screamed, drawing his wand and pointing it at the fallen man.

"Malfoy," Graham muttered in calm tone, thumbing away the blood by his lip. "I'm assuming you intercepted my letter to Hermione-

"You don't say her name," he hissed, somehow keeping his wand hand steady like strict steel. "Ever. You don't look at her, you don't talk to her, and if you ever send her a letter again, I'll make sure your stay in St. Mungo's is permanent."

"Now, now," he replied, sounding far too cocky considering his current position. "You jump to conclusions, Malfoy. I can assure you that my letter was completely innocent-

"Bullshit!" he spat, swinging his leg to smack against Montague's ribs. "I don't know what your game is but you have a death-wish if you try and contact her again-

"I read about the letters in the paper," Graham interrupted him, not even bothering to try and rise from the floor. "I simply had a few inquiries-

"Let me see them then!" he demanded, preparing to fire some hexes when Graham risked a smirk. "Wipe that fucking look off your face, Montague! Show me your bloody letters-

"I never said I had any," he argued with a condescending tone that almost burned away the remains of Draco's tether. "I said I simply had some questions-

"Then you can ask one of the other bloody Aurors-

"I wanted to ask her," he interrupted with a blasé shrug. "But clearly her little bodyguard doesn't approve-

"_Don't_," he growled, flicking his wand for emphasis. "You knew exactly what you were doing-

"You always did have an overactive imagination, Malfoy-

"_Levicorpus_," he snarled, only holding the spell for a moment before allowing the the wizard to drop awkwardly on his neck. He was certain he had heard a significant snap, perhaps a shoulder dislocating, and he enjoyed the flinch of pain that stained Montague's face. "Even if you get some sodding letters, you will _not_ contact her. I couldn't give a shit about you. In fact, I would pay half my inheritance to see you dealt with."

"That's a little harsh, Malfoy," he stuttered through the pain at the back of his voice. "And just when everyone had thought you were a changed man-

"Shut it!" Draco yelled, tightening his hold on his weapon. "I know you are involved in all this, Montague! And the second I find out how, I'm dragging your arse to Azkaban-

"There's that imagination again-

"_Impedimenta_!" Malfoy shouted, forcing enough of his magic into the spell to give Graham a solid shock-wave to his gut. "Stop interrupting me! I've warned you; don't go near her, or I'll be back with some head-fuck curses that will send you crawling back to your little mentally-deranged cell."

"Merlin knows w-what she sees in you," Montague barely managed to choke over his wounded abdomen.

Draco considered shooting another hex at the injured man, but the sadistic sliver that had yet to be erased from his blood decided that he had always savoured the slick sound of rubber clapping against flesh.

He gave Graham a succulent and rewarding kick to the face that coaxed a loud yelp from the other wizard. He couldn't stop the smirk that pulled at his mouth. It was what he had wanted; and now he could leave. Satisfied.

.

* * *

.

"Where have you been?" Hermione almost pounced on him when he returned to his office. "I was starting to worry."

"I just had a couple of things to sort out," he told her, pausing his walk to his seat when she grabbed his hand. "What?"

"Are you alright?" she asked as he leaned against the desk. "You look a little spaced out."

"I'm fine," he nodded, initiating a quick but heated kiss that seemed to chase away her curiosity. "So," he prompted as he pulled away and sat in his chair. "What happened with the person who came in about the letters?"

"Oh, yes," she said with an intellectual smile. "You'll never guess who it was."

"You want to play a guessing game with some lad who has been receiving death threats?" he cocked an eyebrow at her. "That's a bit sinister of you, Granger."

He realised there was a dash of irony there, but it was rather delicious.

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "It was Terrence Higgs."

"Seriously?" Draco's eyes widened slightly. "He was always a decent bloke actually. I'm surprised the killer would think he would join an anti-Muggle group."

"So was Terrence," she revealed. "He's coming back in tomorrow with the rest of his letters but from what I can see they're definitely from the same guy. Neville's sorting out some protection methods for him now."

"Did he say anything useful?"

"Nothing we don't already know," she sounded disappointed, picking up her quill to commence her work. "I forgot to ask, did I get any messages while I was out of the office?"

The lie came so easily without a slice of guilt.

"No," he said, stealing a slow second just to study her. "No, you're fine."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Okay so no cliffy this time! Sad times because I loves me a cliffy! They always seem to gain more reviews! Oh yay on 400 reviews by the way! And the 150+ people who added this to their faves. It's a massive compliment considering this is my first Dramione.

We're coming close to the end now... And that feels a little...odd. I considered getting sentimental but I figured drinking more wine would be more beneficial.

Lend me your thoughts on the chapter please. And if anyone has any questions, ask away!

Massive thanks to **stolen. stars** who took the time and effort to go back and review a bunch of chapters. Thank you so much, it was very sweet of you!

So, yes...you know what to do...

**Next chapter: Have yourself a Malfoy little Christmas...but not all the Christmas surprises are welcome... **


	27. Checkmate

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 27: Checkmate.

.

Draco could just see Hermione as she chatted happily away with Amelia in the kitchen from his sofa in the sitting room. She caught his eyes to give him a little smile and he offered her his usual smirk, but it faltered when Warrington ordered his Rook to c4 to take out his Knight.

The last two weeks had been a relaxed fortnight of inactivity, and Draco had come to realise that boredom was actually a luxury. There had been no more murders and Hermione and himself hadn't received any more letters to dampen their moods.

Caleb Warrington had visited the office last week and had brought along his fiancé, Amelia Ivyfair, and the two Muggle-borns had instantly hit it off. In the last couple of weeks, Caleb and Amelia had visited Draco's home at Hermione's request seven times, and while he had initially been reluctant, a similar aptitude in Wizard's Chess had made Caleb quite good company. It was now Monday of the third week and the foursome had somehow reached a quick routine that Draco found himself rather comfortable with.

Hermione had even pulled a few strings so that Warrington was now an official employee of the Ministry and was getting paid for his involvement with the case.

The two women would natter away about Muggles, Magic and all things female in the kitchen while he and Warrington discussed general topics over the classic game of chess. The dark-haired wizard was actually okay and it was calming to see Hermione enjoying the company. She looked content, and it suited her exquisite features.

His witch was also in high spirits because three more people had come forward about the letters after Terrence Higgs, one of which had been his old schoolmate James Harper, and the other two had been Muggle-borns. The festive ambiance had also had it's cheering effect on his girlfriend, and while he had never been a massive fan of Christmas, he was grateful that the winter holiday had lured back her happiness.

"Queen's Bishop to a6," Draco muttered, hoping Caleb didn't recognise the Boden's Mate strategy. "Before I forget, you and Amelia are invited to my mother's Christmas party this Saturday."

"Where is it?"

"At the Manor," he answered, pouring some more Ogden's in both their glasses and watching a sceptical look cross the other man's face.

"And would this be one of those pureblood aristocrat parties-

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "My mother gained a conscience after the War. I can assure you Amelia won't have any problems if that's what you're worried about. Just ask Granger; she went to the last party and she was fine. Queen to d1."

Warrington pursed his lips in consideration. "Alright," he said finally. "Could be interesting."

"It starts at eight," he told him, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered his next move. "I'll get the invitation before you leave."

"Rook to e3," Caleb commanded, giving Draco an odd look. "So your mother's really okay with you and Granger?"

"She bloody loves her," he confessed with a slight laugh. "I'm not sure if the woman had a secret lobotomy after the War, but it's certainly worked out well."

"You turned out alright yourself, Malfoy," he commented randomly, and Draco scowled in discomfort. "No offence, but I thought you would stick to your old ways and land yourself in Azkaban."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he drawled, although he wasn't particularly offended. "Let's just say I gained some perspective and maturity. King's Bishop to f4. Checkmate."

"Shit," Warrington swore. "That's two each. Another?"

"Go on then," he nodded, arching an eyebrow when he heard a chorus of giggles from the kitchen. "Sounds like those two will be a while anyway. You set up and I'll get another bottle of Ogden's."

The witches' laughter was still going when he wandered into the kitchen and he gave Hermione's shoulders a sly stroke as he walked past her. "Dare I ask what you two are talking about?"

"We were actually discussing the possibility that the original Santa Clause was a wizard," his lover explained. "What's the score now?"

"Two all," he supplied.

"I'm surprised you don't play Chess, Hermione," the other witch remarked.

"I'm more of a Trivial Pursuit person," she shrugged, turning back to her boyfriend with a thoughtful expression. "We were also talking about Christmas presents. Anything you want, Draco?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, giving her a pointed look. "I was going to tell you not to bother."

"There must be something you want?" she pushed, taking a sip of her beloved Merlot. "Don't make me ask your mother."

"She wouldn't have a clue anyway," he dismissed with small snort. "Why do you think there are seven sets of identical dress robes in my wardrobe?"

"Bugger," she mumbled, wrinkling her nose. "Is there really nothing you want?"

"Maybe a holiday after all this has been sorted," he said, reaching to collect the required bottle of Firewhiskey. "I have a villa in Greece I was thinking we could stay in."

"That sounds nice," she agreed with a lack of enthusiasm. "But I want to give you something you can open on Christmas day."

"I'm assuming I can't change your mind?" he questioned, rolling his eyes when she shook her head. "Then I'm sure you'll think of something."

Hermione's ochre gaze followed him as strolled back into the living room, listening to the inaudible hum of his words as he said something to Caleb. She had established now that she could never get tired of studying his face. From his striking and carved features to the way his eyes would fluctuate between silver and slate, he really was the most fascinating man she'd ever seen, and it was framed by a wonderful mane of pearly-blond hair that always felt divine against her fingertips. Simply stunning.

"So," Amelia snatched her away from her addictive reverie. "When exactly are you planning on telling him?"

The Auror tilted her head in puzzlement. "Tell him what?"

"That you love him."

Hermione's eyes went round and her wine-glossed lips parted to release a noise caught between a choke and a gasp. The serious look on her new friend's face was unintentionally taunting her and she quickly shot a look over to Draco to make sure he hadn't heard anything.

No; his handsome face was, thankfully, oblivious. Praise Merlin.

"What?" she finally managed to stutter, keeping her voice quiet. "I-I don't."

"Well, maybe you haven't realised it yet," Amelia reasoned, like the matter wasn't negotiable. "But it's written all over your face."

That coming from a person she had only known for a fortnight was very disconcerting.

"I really don't," Hermione argued, her tone surprisingly firm now. "We've barely been going out for three months-

"But you're already living together," the blonde-haired woman pointed out with a knowing grin.

"But this is out of convenience," she countered, nervously tapping her finger against her wineglass. "My home isn't safe while all this is going on and I'll probably move out once we catch the guy-

"I doubt it," Amelia practically sung with amusement. The woman had that tomboyish charm that was always carefree but considerate, a personality that felt instantly trustworthy.

"Look," Hermione said carefully, giving her a trained look of confidence. "I really don't love him. It's too soon and it takes time for things like that."

"Okay," the pretty woman shrugged with a nonchalant grin. "If you say so."

"And even if I did," she found herself saying, glancing over to Draco again and pausing just to look at him with sad eyes. "I would never be able to say something first because...well, he isn't good with things like that."

"I did notice," Amelia agreed with a slight sigh. "But that doesn't means doesn't, you know."

Hermione's lip twitched. Something was grabbing at that area in her chest like it was trying to still the beats of her heart. Funny how that pesky 'love' word could either brighten or bludgeon a conversation. Lust and admiration were so much easier to recognise, and it had taken her a while to accept those notions completely.

After all, how could one comprehend _actual_ love when the word was so easily advertised with flimsy morals and intentions? She had loved Ron, but that had been different; more a curious love that had begged her to test the boundaries of friendship and had proved unsuccessful.

She caught his eyes and he gave her another smirk, but she couldn't quite summon the energy to give him anything back. He frowned at her so she quickly urged her lips to stretch and he cocked a doubtful eyebrow but clearly decided she was fine and went back to his chess game.

"No," Hermione turned back to the other Muggle-born, taking a healthy gulp of her drink. "Not yet."

.

* * *

.

On Wednesday, Draco and Caleb had been exiled to the kitchen after Hermione had near blackmailed him into letting her decorate the sitting room after work. He had somehow been dragged along to select a tree, an experience that he never wanted to repeat. Amelia had naturally jumped at the opportunity to assist with the whole thing, and they were currently littering his living room with Merlin knew what.

He'd had one condition; no red or gold.

She had given him a small compromise and agreed to a silver and green colour-scheme to satisfy his Slytherin stereotypes. It was a small blessing but he accepted it nonetheless. It had almost been worth the smile she'd given him. However, if he'd have known the festive fiasco would also involve Hermione's ear-battering compilation of Muggle Christmas songs screaming from another one of her Muggle contraptions, he would have definitely declined.

But, it was nothing a quick silencing charm couldn't fix.

"Consider yourself lucky, Malfoy," Caleb mumbled over his drink. "My house is full of _purple_ shit. At least Granger gave you silver and green."

"Exactly how long will they take?" he asked, shooting an accusatory glance at the door.

"A couple of hours," he said. "Knight to d3. Checkmate."

"Bloody hell," the blond muttered, realising that the other wizard was now beating him three to one. "I knew I should have castled."

"Tough luck," he smirked, helping himself to some more Firewhiskey. "I had a feeling you wouldn't know the Lucena position."

"Fair play. Another one?"

"Might as well if the girls are going to take a while," he agreed. "You know, this is just the start. Granger seems like the type to get really enthusiastic about Christmas. Just like Amelia."

"Better Granger than my mother," Draco said, wrinkling his nose with distaste. "That woman turns into a mental banshee this time of year."

"You're spending Christmas with Granger?"

"I guess so," he answered with a small shrug, realising he hadn't really thought about it. "Her parents are in Australia because of all the crap going on here so it makes sense. You should come over. I'm sure Hermione was going to suggest it anyway."

"I'll ask Amelia," he offered after a slight hesitation. "But I'm sure she'll say yes and I could do with a break from all the merriment. Hufflepuffs get really into the whole-

"Amelia was a Hufflepuff?" Draco gaped, chuckling when the other man nodded. "Funny how things turn out."

He heard the door swing open and turned his head expecting to see one of the girls, but it was Blaise who invaded the space. Draco watched with bemused eyes as the tall man gave Caleb a confused glance that almost bordered on disapproving.

"What the fuck happened to your living room?" he asked the blond. "I thought I'd Flooed to the wrong house."

"Granger's idea," he stated simply, cocking an eyebrow when Blaise gave his chess opponent another sweep with his dark eyes. "You remember Warrington, Blaise?"

"Sure," he replied, giving the other man a stiff nod. "I'm not stopping, I just wanted to pick up my invitation for Saturday. Narcissa said it was here and I don't think I'll get another chance."

"Alright," Draco said carefully, feeling a little awkward. A definite tension had polluted the atmosphere and he wasn't sure why. "It's in the front room. Granger knows where it is. Do you want to stay for a drink or-

"I have things to do," Blaise said with a cold edge to his voice, and then he left as quick as he'd come.

"That was odd," Malfoy commented after a few moments.

"I can see Zabini hasn't changed much," Caleb remarked dryly. "How's he with Granger?"

"Good enough," he replied, just as Hermione walked into the room. "If you're going to ask if you can put more colourful shit in my house, the answer is no."

"Scrooge," she chided, knowing he probably had no idea what the reference meant. "I'm just getting another bottle of wine. Blaise seemed a little moody."

"He's probably just busy with work at the moment," he told her, waving his wand to reset the chess pieces. "Consider all the kids who want new brooms for Christmas. Plus, the thing with his mum."

"I suppose," she said, heading back to the lounge. "We shouldn't be too long now."

"Good," he rolled his eyes, turning back to Caleb once the door had closed behind her. "What the hell is a Scrooge?"

"Not a clue," he confessed. "B-pawn to b3. You get used to them saying stuff you don't really get. Never ask for an explanation because it's just not worth it."

"Noted," he said, remembering when he had the mistake of asking how the television worked. "G-pawn to g4. Have you had any hassle about your involvement with a Muggle-born?"

"My parents weren't happy," he explained with a slight cringe. "But they got over it, even though it took them a while. There's been a few comments here and there but I expected that. King's Knight to c3."

"I suppose that Granger's fame has helped a little," he added as an afterthought. "Being a War hero and all that."

The kitchen door was hurled open again and his lover practically skipped into the room with a brilliant smile. "Draco," she beamed. "It's snowing!"

"Joy," he drawled, shooting her an unimpressed look. "What's your point?"

"Well, Amelia and I are going to have a walk in the park down the street," she said with all the enthusiasm of a sugar-drunk toddler. "And we were wondering if you two could tear yourselves away from your little game to join us?"

"To play in the snow?" he mocked her with his sarcastic smirk, just as Amelia joined the other witch in the doorframe. "I think I'll pass."

"Yes," Caleb agreed, giving his fiancé an amused look. "But you two have fun."

"Come on Caleb," Amelia whined. "We could-

"No, it's okay Amelia," Hermione interrupted, giving the other Muggle-born a sly glimpse. "That's fine. We'll just go to the park alone. You know, even though it's already dark outside."

Draco growled at his witch and shot her a solid scowl. "Bitch."

.

* * *

.

Hermione hadn't stopping smiling since she had entered Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had once again worked her magic. Literally, of course. The Ballroom had been transformed into a wonderful mixture of an ice cave and a grotto, complete with warm snow and multi-flavoured icicles that you could pluck away to taste.

The Norwegian Spruce was easily thirty-feet-tall and speckled with charmed candles, trinkets and silver canaries that glided around the tree or settled to sing on the branches. A section of the floor had been converted into a makeshift ice rink, complete with an animated fountain in the centre , featuring angelic lovers waltzing.

The dance floor was a masterpiece of candelabras, charmed string instruments and enticing shimmery statues of white horses and deer that mingled amongst the dancers, all surrounded by a smoky floor.

But Hermione's favourite part of the room was the more private section, dotted with loveseats made of comfortable ice under canopies of sparkling material laced with glowing holly. It was so stunning she had almost wept with joy, but figured that Draco would quite possibly ditch her for being such a soppy twit.

Amelia had been quite nervous about being in a room with so many purebloods and Hermione had happily kept the girl company. She'd been in the same mind herself, after all. But after an hour of nothing but compliments about her unintentional choice of an emerald dress, she had dragged Caleb to the dance floor despite his protests, leaving the other couple alone.

Having dressed in her favourite navy gown and spent more time than she usually would on her hair and make-up, Hermione actually felt quite beautiful, and judging from Draco's dirty promises of an 'all-night shag fest,' he agreed.

And he looked bloody delicious too.

One too many champagnes mixed with his usual Ogden's had made him slightly less bothered about showing his affection in public. He was still ten-times more aloof than the average wizard, but she had noticed the subtle hand-touching and the delicate whispers in her ear, evidently oblivious that his actions were causing his mother to grin like a cream-filled cat.

Perhaps it was the almost-secrecy that the canopies provided, but her and Draco were currently sat on one of the sheer loveseats, his arm wrapped around her waist and hers draped over his knee while he mumbled against her neck.

"Draco," she breathed, pausing the lips at her throat for a moment. "Stop it; your mother is watching."

"Then she should learn not to look."

"I'm serious," she sighed, although her voice was more fickle than she'd hoped. "It's a bit off-putting having your mother watch while you do that."

"Fine," he groaned, giving her sensitive skin one final slow bite before he pulled away. "But this isn't over."

"I would hope not," she blushed, secretly loving that he could always rouse a rosy tint on her cheeks. "You're in a good mood tonight."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I didn't think you liked Christmas," she reminded him, slowly running her fingertips up and down his leg.

"I don't," he said. "But I appreciate a party with free booze. I assume you're enjoying yourself from that huge smile on your face."

"I think it's beautiful," she told him in soft tone. "You're mother is a genius. This place is like a fairytale."

"Ever the romantic," he smirked at her. "Are you still adamant about getting me a bloody Christmas present?"

"Actually," she laughed a little, pecking his cheek. "I already picked something. And if you don't like it then it's your own fault for being a prat."

"You didn't need to," he told her, giving her knee a small squeeze.

"It's not about need," she frowned, taking his hand in hers and thumbing his knuckles. "It's about want, and I wanted to get you something."

"Want to hear what I want?" he smirked, leaning in to nuzzle her collarbone.

"Your mother's staring again," she warned.

"I'm going to kill that woman," he growled, shooting the other Malfoy a foul look for good measure. "So, I'm assuming you're not going to tell me what it is and I have to wait until Christmas day?"

"Correct," she nodded.

"So then you won't hassle me with questions about your present?" he remarked with a taunting voice. "Good to know."

"You got me something?" she asked, her eyes going wide with delight.

"Of course."

"But you didn't have to-

"What was that dull speech you just gave me about want and need?" he stopped her with a cocked brow. "Don't look so surprised, Granger. I'm not that much of a prick."

"I just didn't expect anything," she gasped, clenching his hand a little tighter.

"I know," he nodded, pulling her a little closer. "That's what made it so easy. Although I can't take all the credit; my mother helped a little."

"And you're really not going to tell me what it is?" she asked, feeling that familiar Christmas excitement burning her stomach.

"Rules are rules," he said. "But I did have a feeling your curiosity would be a problem."

"Have I become that predictable?" she questioned with a small grimace.

"Far from it," Draco assured his lover with a light chuckle.

"And I forgot to thank you for inviting Amelia and Caleb round on Christmas day," she said, knowing she probably looked like an adoring fool right now. But, Merlin help her, she couldn't stop it. "I wanted to, but I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with it."

"It's no big deal," he shrugged. "It's just another day, right? Plus, they're okay company."

"I know," she smiled, watching as said couple moved towards them. "And there they are."

"Oh my god," Amelia gushed as her and Warrington took a seat opposite them. "This party is amazing! I danced with an ice sculpture and we just found out that they are doing carriage rides around your gardens!"

"They are?" Hermione breathed, giving Draco a slight slap on his leg. "You didn't tell me that. Can we go on one?"

"I've seen my gardens plenty of times, thanks," he said, frowning when her smile fell. "Fine," he grumbled in submission. "But we'll save it until later because there'll be queues now."

"Okay," she nodded enthusiastically. "I'm just popping to the bathroom. I'll be back in a second."

She left the other three behind and slowly meandered through the crowd, catching Narcissa's eye for a second. The elegant witch immediately enveloped Hermione in a welcoming hug and she noticed the genuine fondness and sweet perfume from the older woman.

"I've been trying to catch you alone all night," the blonde told her. "But I can see my son's pretty intent on keeping you to himself. I take that things are well?"

"They are," the Auror grinned. "And this is such a wonderful party, Narcissa. And thank you for letting me invite Amelia and Caleb."

"Oh, Amelia's lovely," she said, adjusting her striking black gown. "She mentioned that she was visiting you on Christmas day. I'm guessing Draco's still being cynical about the whole holiday?"

"He's been okay," Hermione laughed lightly. "And in case I forget, thank you for helping Draco pick out my present. I know you probably had to talk him into it."

"Not at all," she shook her head with a playful look. "He came to me actually."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes widening a little. "I'm impressed."

"That makes two of us," she confessed, glancing at her son with an almost proud look before giving the witch an approving face. "You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said with a bashful expression. "I think this dress has had the desired effect."

"No, it's not the dress," Narcissa told her with a confident tone. "You know, there' nothing more stunning than the look of a woman who's in love."

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Deja vu could be so inconvenient at times. "I...," she trailed off, trying to grasp at fleeting words. "Um...what?"

"Sorry for being so forward," the other witch smirked. "It's in my nature."

"No, it's not that," she tried to explain, but it was hard for her to form a sentence. "I just...Well, I-

"I can see it from across the room," she continued, and then a look of understanding crossed her features. "Oh, have I misread you?"

"I think so," Hermione answered, but she faltered and nibbled her lip. "I mean, I...I'm not sure."

"Sorry, I guess I kind of jumped to conclusions," the woman apologised again, still smiling brightly. "I'll drop it. Where are you going, dear?"

"Just to the bathroom," she answered, still a little shocked.

"It's just outside the main doors," Narcissa said. "And you really should go on one of the carriage rides outside. The gardens look lovely all lit up. It's very romantic."

"Okay," the younger witch nodded. "Can you not mention this conversation to-

"My lips are sealed," she promised, and Hermione excused herself.

Two witches in less than a week had said the same thing.

That women's intuition was a right bitch.

She had never actually needed the toilet; she had just wanted an excuse to explore the remainder of the party's attributes. Now, she was simply staring at herself in the mirror of the bathroom, searching for the signs that Amelia and Narcissa had apparently found so obvious.

As far as she could tell, she looked exactly the same. But then what was she supposed to be looking for? It was hardly like a little love-fairy came in your sleep and tattooed a heart on your forehead for the whole world to see.

She thought of all those morons who stated; 'you just know when you're in love.'

Bullshit. Love was by far the most complex sentiment. Scientists were still trying to establish whether it actually existed for heaven's sake! To her, love was like magic; she'd been oblivious to it for years until a certain point in her life, and even now it still baffled her.

She calmed herself by remembering that women were so susceptible and thirsty to point anything remotely romantic, and the break from dark incidents with the case had certainly made her more relaxed and happy. Maybe they were simply reading that on her features.

Having convinced herself that the two other witches were most likely delirious, she decided to head back to her three companions and enjoy the rest of her evening without stressing over the notion of love. She left the bathroom and smacked straight into a fleshy wall that managed to grab her before she stumbled.

"Blaise," she gasped as she sorted her footing. "I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's okay, Granger," he assured her, giving her form a quick sweep with unreadable eyes. "Everything alright? You look a little troubled."

"I'm fine," she said, offering him a tight smile. "I haven't seen you tonight. Have you only just come?"

"Work's been hectic," he supplied, folding his arms over his chest. "Draco inside?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Draco, Caleb, Amelia and I are just sitting by the tree if you'd like to join us."

"Perhaps," he mumbled, and Hermione felt herself frown when an odd look captured his strict features.

"You alright?" she asked reluctantly, feeling a little awkward asking him the question.

"I'm fine," he responded stiffly. "Just a little surprised that you managed to tear yourself away from his side."

Her eyebrows rose at the comment but she tried not to look too offended. He was a Slytherin after all. They were known for their blunt opinions and snide remarks, and clearly Blaise was no exception.

"I think he would have something to say if I asked him to come the bathroom," she tried to sound light and humoured, but she wasn't sure if it was convincing. "He's already a little tipsy."

"I see," Blaise replied slowly, looking a little more amused. "Sometimes, Malfoy forgets his place."

Something flicked at Hermione's brain but she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that she didn't feel comfortable in the lonely corridor with him and she desired to be back in the beautiful atmosphere of the ballroom.

"Well," she sighed, moving past him. "I'd better be getting back to the party."

Her hand had just closed around the doorknob when she heard the dark wizard speak again.

"Your dress," he said clearly, his voice as crisp as the December wind outside. "Very impressive, Miss Granger."

She felt that little twinge in her brain again, like someone was prodding it to call her attention to something. She tilted her head over her shoulder to give him a forced smile and a parting nod before she opened the door, hoping her actions didn't look too hasty.

She released one of those breaths that she'd been ignorant to and took a moment just to absorb the soothing effect of the party. It was like a succulent sedative, and she quickly felt relieved as she wandered back to where Draco was sat alone, spotting Amelia and Caleb on the dance floor.

"You took your time," the blond commented as she retook her seat next to him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, nipping at his lips and relishing the wet warmth he offered. "I just bumped into Blaise."

"I wasn't even sure if he'd shown up," Draco remarked, giving her another sceptical stare. "You sure you're okay? I saw my mother grab you; did she say something stupid?"

She released a small laugh. "No, she was as charming as always," she told him. "Honestly, I'm fine. Can we go on that carriage ride now, please?"

"Alright," he agreed hesitantly.

And Narcissa had been right. With the darkness of night, the lanterns twinkled and lit a path for the white Shire horse to follow, and she absorbed the sublime and scenic grounds while Draco freckled her with lusty kisses. It should have been perfect and, as promised, mind-numbingly romantic.

But her mind was far from numb.

That little niggling feeling was still there; persistent and irritating. But why?

.

* * *

.

a/n: Wehey! Another late-night chapter. I have work at nine and it's now half four...great...I'm guessing most of you now have your theories and I love hearing them! I promise further twists though! Have I ever let you down? (oh god, I hope not! Sorry if I have!) Not many chapters left...perhaps four or five.

Oh, and sorry about giving you Christmas themes in July!

To answer **scoobysnakz**, thanks for the question and yes I've already started another Dramione called 'Isolation' which will be up shortly after this is finished. I was going to put it up sooner but figured it was best to finish this first so my concentration can be appropriately dispersed!

Fave review of last chapter was **lalalaniebug** because it made me laugh and blush at the same time!

I realise that the last chapter was a filler so I appreciate the reviews I received. Hopefully this chapter was interesting so let me know! Remember; there's always a calm before the storm...Will the next chapter be stormy? Quite possibly...

**Next Chapter: Hermione's head's still hurting from those annoying flicks...and all the mentions of love aren't helping...**


	28. Paradise

_Disclaimer: If by some miracle Draco gets put up for sale, I call shotgun. Until then...I own sod all._

**.**

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 28: Paradise.

.

"Draco," she nudged him, pushing his shoulder as he adjusted under the covers. "Draco, wake up."

"Bugger off," he mumbled with a voice laden with sleep.

"It's Christmas Day," she told him, rising up on her knees to prod his back again. "Get up!"

"Granger, it can't be any later than seven-

"It's half six," she said, bouncing on the bed for a moment. "Get up, Draco, please!"

He cracked open one heavy eye. Her excitement was practically blinding, her face fresh with innocent passion and framed by her bed-wild curls. Her leathery gold eyes were wide and beautiful, pleading with him to leave the comforts of bed.

"Granger," he started slowly. "I didn't get to sleep until three this morning because of you and that bloody cat. You're twenty-three years old-

"Oh hush," she stopped him, wrapping herself in one of her silk gowns and feathering his face with some coy kisses. "I'm going to keep prodding you until you get up so you might as well-

"Fine!" he growled, hurling away the duvet and throwing his pillow at her for good measure. "I knew you'd be a pain in the arse today."

"Come on," she smiled at him. "Would it kill you to have a little Christmas spirit?"

"It's not worth the risk," he told her, shrugging on a loose top. "And why exactly are we up this early?"

"Because Harry and Ron will be sending their presents soon," she explained as they headed downstairs. "And I like to be up for as much as Christmas as possible."

"Of course you do," he mumbled, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time as he eyed his living room, which looked like a festive tornado had ravaged it. "I bet you Weasley's sent you a lock of his own or hair, or something equally disturbing."

"Stop it," she warned him, smothering her amusement. "There shall be no derogatory remarks about my friends today, Draco."

"Okay," he shrugged, settling on the couch. "I'll just wait until Caleb gets here and do it when you aren't listening."

"What do you want to do first?" she asked, ignoring his comment. "My family used to do presents first."

"Whatever you want," he offered. "I'm not really fussed."

Hermione quickly set to work on the gifts, purposefully leaving hers for him, and his for her until last. Harry and Ginny had sent her favourite perfume and a set lovely jumpers, complete with a moving ultrasound of their five-month-old baby. Draco had actually left the room when she had indulged in a girly cooing session and tried to identify every limb and digit of the unborn child. More immortal Gryffindors. Great.

Ron had surprised her with three sets of stunning robes; one burgundy, one navy and one black that was embroidered with gold lilies. It was by far the nicest thing she'd ever received from the redhead, including the period they had been dating. Her current boyfriend had muttered something about 'Weasels' and 'trying to impress,' but she hadn't really caught it.

Draco had received all the predictable things he'd told her he would; mainly bottles of Ogden's, expensive robes and novelty items to do with Quidditch and the like. Narcissa had took it open herself give them a set of _matching _bathrobes that had caused the blond to start ranting a multitude of death threats and curses about the Malfoy Matriarch.

There were finally two presents left, and she felt the anxious dragonflies start fluttering in her stomach. She was kneeling on the floor by the tree while he lounged on the couch, still looking completely blasé about the entire affair. She nibbled her lower lip, privately wondering if she would ever be able to kick the habit.

"I'm nervous now," she confessed in a small voice, and he an arched an eyebrow at her.

"What the hell about?" he asked.

"Well," she started with a slight grimace. "What if you don't like what I got you?"

His eyebrow rose a little higher on his forehead and he exhaled a long breath. In a strange moment of compassion, Draco moved off the sofa to sit on the floor in front of her, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. She watched his face with that ever-haunting fascination as his features slowly changed into an expression she rarely saw. It was almost unguarded, and alluringly softer. He still managed to retain his aloofness though. Git.

"Look," he said quietly, running one of his hands over hers. "I think we can safely say I'm not going to jump around the room like a doped-up Hufflepuff, but you know me well enough. I'm sure you chose well."

She let out the breath clogging her chest and gave him a soft smile. He was right; she did know him. And it felt wonderful.

"Okay," she nodded, placing the gifts on their respective laps.

"Would you rather you opened my first?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm more intrigued now."

Giving her an approving smirk, he slowly removed the pristine packaging and his eyes widened. He recognised the item immediately but he couldn't comprehend how it could be in his hands. He'd heard about it thousands of times from his father and he'd seen a picture of it once, a long time ago. The object was about the size of his fist, made out of Scottish Gold from Tyndrum, the most expensive in the world, of course.

The Malfoy Motto was inscribed at the top, _Planto Nex non Bellum_, crowning the charmed engraving of a snake wrapping around a sword with an M-shaped handle. It was his family's original crest, preserved in a small glass box on a bed of emerald velvet. And nobody had seen it since 1980. Since the first Wizarding War.

"How?" he blurted, snapping his confused eyes up to his smug-looking witch. "The Ministry destroyed it when they raided the Manor-

"It wasn't destroyed," she contested, her smile twitching at the corners when his puzzlement increased. "It's just been locked away-

"But, how did you-

"The Ministry's still a little corrupt," she answered before he could finish. "Knowing the right people and all that. Plus, maybe a little bribery."

"How very Slytherin of you," he approved, glancing back down at his gift. "I have no idea how you pulled this off but-

"There's something else," she told him, removing the small envelope at the bottom of the package. "I know you were probably going to get them anyway so I had to check that you hadn't already but that's a VIP pass to all the games in the next Quidditch Cup."

"Fucking hell," he breathed. "Hermione, this is really expensive-

"Don't be silly," she told him forcefully. "I wanted to-

"What's this?" he questioned, fingering the sheet of parchment at the back of the tournament pass.

"That document," she started hesitantly, her eyes flashing with poorly-concealed glee. "Is proof that you, and all your mother's Traces have been completely removed."

"All of them?" he repeated, his incredulous stare so flattering she blushed.

"Every last one," she confirmed, leaning in to steal his lips and laughing into his kiss when gave her an enthusiastic suck.

"Good choices," he muttered against her mouth as he pulled away. "Your turn, Granger."

She nodded with excitement and literally scratched her way through the wrapping paper, stopping to release a loud and abandoned gasp when she realised what he had given her. She had waited years just to look at this object; would have given up anything just to touch it. But she had thought it impossible.

_Magical Tales and Poems from the Wandering Wizard_ by Ariston Ganos.

"Draco," she whispered, carefully running her fingertips over the ancient book. "Is this-

"Yes," he cut her off, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"B-but," she stuttered, unintentionally shivering as she stroked the author's name. "There are only eighteen copies in the world."

"Correct," he nodded. "Open to the first page, Granger."

She did as he requested and felt her heart burst.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, almost dropping the text. "But he only signed six copies!"

"And you have one of them now," he explained, transfixed as her face almost glowed with admiration. "One more thing," he said slowly, moving the book slightly so he could remove the small box underneath. She warily took it from him and opened it with trembling hands, her features etched with blissful notions as she eyed the necklace inside.

"Draco," she whispered, her lips parted with wonder. The otter-shaped stone, resting on a silver chain, was a distinctive colour that tickled her brain when she realised what the gem was. "Is this Taaffeite?"

"Well done," he smirked, always impressed with her knowledge. The woman was a walking Encyclopedia.

"But it's so rare," she mumbled, giving him a look of pure enchantment. "And it's a Muggle stone."

"I know," he said, adjusting himself to be slightly closer to her.

"But this must have cost you-

"Save it," he warned, noticing she looked nothing short of awed and divine. "So I assume you approve?"

"I don't know what to say," she answered breathlessly, catching his eyes with a glazed stare. "I love you."

She could honestly say that she had meant to tell him that she loved the presents, but the words had waltzed out of her mouth against her consent. And now they were out there, gliding between them like innocent and loud swallows, and she couldn't do anything about it. She had a second to notice his surprise before she tore her gaze away from him, her expression quickly turning horrified and humiliated.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered, once her tongue had regained control. "I shouldn't have...I don't expect you to...I don't want to ruin-

He grabbed her face between his steady palms and hastily graced her with a thirsty kiss that was slow and sublime. This was a new and exquisite sensation, so much more delectable and deliberate than the lusty exchanges that had proceeded it.

She felt him carefully move aside their gifts, and he enveloped her in his arms and guided them to the sofa. With a tenderness and care she had never thought her lover could possess, he gently removed her clothes like a love-drugged teen would pluck petals from a daisy.

She remembered the 'he loves me, he loves me not' game, and thought it was the most appealing case of irony she could have ever imagined.

He broke the kiss to lose his top, and she freed her dulcet gasps between her rose-dreamy lips. "Caleb and Amelia-

"Won't be here for a few hours," he mumbled, smoothly sliding into her to start a perfect pace and steal her mouth again.

And it was slow and sensual, more about the intimacy itself than striving for a climax. She was lost, but this purgatory was paradise. She had no idea how many times they repeated the dance; all she knew was that it lasted for hours, and not once did their bodies separate. Hips to hips. Chest to chest. Forehead to forehead.

It was fluid and lusciously lazy; a mist of honeyed shapes and mingling sounds. They were painted with whines and whispers, flecked with salty dew and Christmas morning. And every shine of a second was treasured torture and euphoric exhaustion that stole her qualms and sanity. Her nerves had subsided, and all that remained was clarity and drugging passion.

Only when they realised that their guests would be joining them soon did they leave the sofa. Draco cradled her tightly to him as he headed towards the bathroom while she remained weak and quivering from the hours of rapture. He flicked on the shower and settled Hermione on her unstable feet, nibbling at her shoulders as the water washed away their glittery layers of sweat.

"Did you mean it?" he murmured against her ear, his voice husky with sex.

She paused.

"Yes," she decided, perhaps for herself too. "I love you."

His grip on her strengthened and he sighed against her throat. "I can't-

"You don't have to," she mumbled, placing her hands over his. "Like you said. I know you."

The rest of the shower was silent, but then she realised she didn't need him to echo her sentiments. It was satisfying enough to know that she had accepted them herself and that he wasn't sprinting away from her with a repulsed face.

The rest of December's day passed with a blur of already-memories that would probably cause her to smile for years ahead, aided by Amelia and Caleb's company. And while Draco had said no more about her confession, she'd noticed some demi-smiles and unfamiliar glances that had roused teasing tickles in her chest. Something had changed, and it felt simply like magic.

And that night, he may have hummed _the_ three elusive words against her hair, drowned under her sleepy breaths in the early hours of Boxing day. But then, maybe he didn't.

.

* * *

.

New Year raced by with exploding colours and claps of dazzling thunder at the Manor, but reality inevitably clawed its way back in. The Ministry was still overwhelmed with tasteful trimmings when they returned to work on January 2nd and they went back to the case.

When Hermione released her ninth melancholy sigh in the last hour, he was just about ready beat her to death with one of her precious books. It was slowly pushing into midday already, and Draco had quickly settled back into their work routine, but his lover's troubled sighs and moans were distracting to say the least.

"Right," he sneered, setting down his quill and stilling her with a cold look. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You've had face like a slapped arse all morning," he pointed out, scowling when she gave him a small shrug. "Have I done something to piss you off?"

"If you'd done something you'd know about it," she said with a hesitant smile. "I just have the January Blues, Draco. You know, when it's after Christmas and everything starts to get back to normal."

He rolled his eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he drawled, leaning back in his chair and resting his chin against his palm.

"Lots of people get it," she reasoned. "There's nothing to look forward to now for a while. I think Ron's birthday is the next thing and that's not until March-

"You're on your own with that one," he told her with a snarky tone. "So, you're going to be a miserable bitch until March?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, laughing slightly in spite of herself. "It usually lasts a couple of days. Just ignore me. Why would you think I was angry at you?" She paused and gave him a measured stare. "_Have_ you done something?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he said. "I'm going to my mother's later. Maybe you should invite Amelia or Loony over while I'm gone."

"Her name is Luna," she scolded, tempted to give him another rant about taunting her friends. "And I really want to get some work done tonight-

"On your own?" he asked, evidently not pleased with the prospect. "I think not-

"I'm a big girl, Draco," the witch argued. "I'm sure I'll be okay for a few hours. You said your home was safe-

"It is," he interrupted, fixing her with his stormy glare. "It's you that's the problem. You bloody Gryffindors are a glutton for punishment-

"That's not true!"

"Of course it is," he gave her a dismissive wave. "Look at your Hogwarts days, Granger. You and the twat twins were always getting yourself in shit; running around and being all fucking _gallant _and_ noble._" He spat the words like they burned his tongue and scrunched his face with distaste. "You're a bloody accident waiting to happen-

"Well, your time at Hogwarts was hardly uneventful," she countered, flashing him a knowing grin.

"Unlike you, Potter and Weasley," he said. "I didn't actually go looking for trouble-

"I'll be fine," she finalised, snatching the Trace Reports out of his hands. "In case you haven't noticed, we have a ton of work to do. And I am a bloody Auror."

.

* * *

.

"So, did she like the necklace?" Narcissa asked, nursing her tea across from her son.

"You know she did," he grumbled. "We covered all this at New Year's."

"I know," she grinned like a content feline. "But maybe she was just being polite-

"She hasn't taken it off since Boxing day," he revealed with a bored breath. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm a genius," the blonde witch boasted. "And you know it's true. I know you looked up the Muggle stone and everything but I am taking full responsibility for carving it into her Patronus-

"I thought you might," he growled, knowing where this conversation was going. His mother's new favourite hobby basically involved praising Hermione until his ears bled. After weeks of practising different tactics to quicken the woman's insistent compliments about his girlfriend, he had established the best thing he could do was just to nod and say the bare minimum.

"And I still can't believe she managed to get the Malfoy crest," she continued with a cheerful voice. "That girl is something else-

"So you keep saying-

"And to remove the rest of our Traces was so thoughtful," she gushed.

"I know," he mumbled, but he could feel something burning the back of his throat.

"You know," she smiled, eyeing her son with a whimsical gaze. "She may be the best thing that ever happened to you-

"Mother," he stopped her, and he realised that scorching sensation in his mouth was honesty. How inappropriate. "She told me she loved me."

Narcissa's sparkling eyes went a fraction wider. "I knew it!" she beamed, but she hesitated when she realised her son looked anything but pleased. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said quietly, lacing his fingers together and bowing his head. "I didn't do anything."

"You didn't say it back?" she questioned, frowning when he shook his head.

"You know I'm not into all that mushy shit," he backfired, hating that he had told her in the first place. Damn that family loyalty crap all to hell. But then, maybe he'd been planning to ell her from the moment he'd entered his family home. Merlin knew he needed to tell someone.

"But you do love her," she stated as though it was common knowledge.

"Excuse me?" he sputtered.

"Oh please, Draco," the devious witch rolled her eyes, placing down her fragile teacup to give him her full attention. "You may be well gifted in Occlumency, but you should know by now that I can read you like a book-

"Bullshit-

"So you don't love her then?" she shot back.

And his silence was damning. As was the way his lip curled back and his eyes darted away from her, like he was a petulant child who'd been caught out.

"I thought so," his mother smirked triumphantly. "You know, your father told me he loved before I told him-

"I am not my father," he spat, his tone bitter and tired. "I just need some time to understand all this."

"What is there to understand?" she asked, her voice softer than before. "I know you'll hate my saying this; but you two are perfect for each other-

"Well, there are many who would disagree with you," he remarked coldly. "Like all our ancestors."

"Well, they're all dead," she stated bluntly, catching him off-guard. "And those are antique traditions, Draco."

"And many people would say I don't deserve her after everything I have done."

"Are you one of those people?" she inquired, grimacing when he gave her a slow shrug of uncertainty. "Draco, if anyone deserves some happiness, it's you."

"Debatable," he replied lazily. "Can I trust you not to chat about this to any of your friends? And don't even think about drawing up bloody ideas for a fictional wedding, mother. I know how your crazy little brain works."

.

* * *

.

When Draco returned home just after eleven, he found his witch curled up on his couch and immersed in her work, surrounded by a little flock of chirping sparrows from an obvious _Avis _spell; an annoying habit that helped her concentrate. She was so focussed on her pile of parchments that she missed the rumble of the fireplace and her lover's entrance, which allowed him a few secret seconds just to observe her.

He could honestly say that he felt better just for looking at her, and it made him feel warily content.

"Hey," she greeted, slowly coming out of her intellectual trance, waving her wand. "_Finite_. You didn't take long."

"I can only take so much of my mother's company in one sitting," he chided, taking a seat next to her and glancing at her notes. "Any luck?"

"Nothing much," she sighed with disappointment. "I asked Mafalda to send me the Trace Reports from a couple of years ago to see if anything happened that would catalyse or initiate someone into starting an anti-Muggle group."

"And?"

"There's a lot to go through," she told him, pointing to the foot-tall mountain of papers that he hadn't noticed resting on his coffee table. "And so far; not a bloody thing."

"It's a good idea though," he approved, giving her hip a small squeeze.

"We'll see," she murmured, tilting her head to nip his mouth. "What did you and your mother talk about?"

His lip twitched.

"Not much," he answered vaguely, hiding his scowl when he recalled the topic of their discussion. "Just the usual. Are you still doing your Auror training tomorrow?"

"Yes," she graced him with a quick smile. "Which means I get a lie in. It doesn't start until ten."

"You're not going to come in with me and work on the case?"

"You have that meeting with Mafalda at eight," she reminded him, grinning when he groaned. "So I figured I'd just carry on with these before I go in for training. But in bed."

"Fair enough," he shrugged, catching her lips for a tasty kiss. "Well, not all of us get a lie in, so I'm going to bed. Coming up?"

"I'm just going to finish the reports for February," she told him, gesturing to her notes. "I shouldn't be too long."

He gave her mouth another quick lick before he disappeared from the room, leaving his infinitely studious lover to her devices. Despite being the shortest month of the year, February proved to take a little longer than she'd expected, but she was determined to complete her analysis of the month. So when midnight almost ticked by and she heard the Floo roar with a guest, she predictably jumped.

"Blaise," she gasped once she'd regained her breathing. She remembered her odd exchange with him at the Manor and instantly felt uncomfortable in his presence, especially when he subjected her to one of his vacant and cryptic looks.

"Granger," he nodded at her after a curious silence. "Is Malfoy still awake?"

"No," she answered meekly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Draco has an early meeting, so he went to bed-

"Without you?" he questioned, arching a black eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise, Granger?"

"I'm working," she said steadily, finding it difficult to keep eye contact. "And Draco has a meeting in the morning."

"I see," he smirked, taking a couple of steps closer. "So I presume everything is still going smoothly-

"Was there something you wanted, Blaise?" she questioned sharply, rising from the sofa so she wouldn't feel so vulnerable. "I plan on going to bed in a bit."

"Well, I wanted to talk to Draco," the wizard said. "But I suppose you'll have to do."

"I'll pass on a message," she mumbled, analysing the dark lines of his face. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Just let him know that I've organised a Qudditch game for this Saturday," he told the witch. "It's at five in Kent; he'll know the spot."

"Alright," she nodded, shifting her weight on her feet. "Goodnight then, Blaise-

"You're very anxious to get rid of me," he commented, his tone empty as he took another step towards her, about three feet away. "Do I make you nervous, Granger?"

"Why would you make me nervous?" she countered, folding her arms confidently over her chest and refusing to budge. "I'm just tired and I'd like to get to bed."

"You mean to Malfoy," he corrected, giving her another long stare before he turned around and moved back to the fireplace. "Fair enough. Ciao, Granger."

She didn't reply; just stood resolute as he vanished behind the veil of green. Once the thunder had stopped, she let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the sofa, her eyes darting around as she tried to make sense of how she felt. She was shaking a little, although why she wasn't sure.

She felt like one of those mice that had been abandoned after the black cat had grown bored of toying with it.

Cornered, attacked and tossed aside to recover.

Her eyes lingered on the fireplace and she rubbed her arms to calm the goosebumps that were sprinkled on her skin. She thought back to their conversation at the Manor again and just tried to figure out what exactly had disturbed so much. When she replayed the two encounters in her head, she couldn't pick out anything specific that was unusual; she just knew that she didn't like them. At all. Some of the words he'd said had rang loud and ominous bells in her brain but she just couldn't grasp the relevance, and it was frustrating and unnerving her at the same time.

She suddenly felt very alone and exposed, desperate for the comfort of another presence. Rising to her unstable feet again, no longer supported by adrenaline and pride, she struggled up the stairs, tripping over her own feet.

She felt like she was being watched and eyed her surroundings suspiciously before she slipped into the bedroom. She undressed as quickly as she could, feeling extremely bare before she slipped under the safe covers. She huddled herself as closely to Draco as she could and allowed herself a relieved sigh when he turned to wrap an instinctive arm around her.

Her breaths were a little shallow as she buried her face into his chest. She heard him moan in semi-consciousness and his arm tightened a little.

"You're shaking, Granger," he muttered with a raspy voice against her forehead.

She though about telling him. Confessing that his best friend had petrified her. And when he asked how, what could she say? That Blaise had dropped by and been...himself? His normal arrogant and sarcastic self? Maybe the events of the last few weeks had simply put her on edge. Paranoia was certainly plausible. Should she really be so surprised that a Slytherin was creeping her out? It had been expected and ordinary in Hogwarts.

"I'm just cold," she whispered, tilting her head to peck his chin. "Did I wake you?"

"It's fine," he breathed, adjusting himself and her into a better position. "Did I hear something downstairs earlier?"

"Blaise came over," she frowned secretly to herself. "He's sorted out a Quidditch game-

"Tell me in the morning," he groaned, stifling a yawn. "Stop shivering, Granger. I need some sleep."

"Sorry," the witch said, tensing her muscles to force herself still. "Draco?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

His eyes opened a fraction and he peeked down at her, only able to make out the wispy shadows of her tangled hair. It waved as his breathing teased her strands, and he thought it odd that the movements were somewhat hypnotising. Funny how those three words instantly changed the atmosphere in a room; more like they were an incantation than a declaration. Just three little syllables.

_I. Love. You._

"I know," he offered finally, unsure what else he could really say. He tilted his head to nip the end of her nose, something that he had seen many other couples do and always believed it looked stupid. "Go to sleep," he told his witch.

But she was already gone.

Safety had that sedating effect on people. Especially when you're have an adrenaline comedown.

But safety is temporary.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Four _large _glasses of wine, twelve cigarettes and two energy drinks later...Another chapter! You people are bad for my health and I love you for it. Let's think of it as Potions class...you throw enough shit into a container and something eventually pops out!

Well...I'm nervous actually...Writing lovey dovey stuff is always a bit iffy for me...For my fellow cynical buggers, you'll know what I mean! So hope it was okay. I await your responses...anxiously.

And my favourite review? Well there were two actually...**The Quill Danced**: thanks for your lovely thoughts, and I hope your family aren't too perplexed! And you read Heaney in Canada? Holy crap! I never would have thought! Also to **When She Was Bad**: first off, your pen-name is bloody brilliant! And don't apologise...I love me some rants! In fact I thrive on them! Thanks for your thoughts!

And I know that it's really common for ff writers to change the Malfoy motto...but I find the original so much better!

Read and review...Go on, you know you want to! I think we've established that they really do make me update quicker! 3 days since the last chapter...I'm expecting my halo any day now.

**Next Chapter: Let's just say some of that shit's going to smack hard into the metaphorical fan...**


	29. Storm

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 29: Storm.

.

It was the delightful little kisses on her abdomen that slowly roused her on Tuesday. A morning moan skipped out of her mouth as she wearily lifted her head to find Draco flecking languid licks against her stomach. She sighed with a smile and combed her fingertips through his platinum mane, earning a husky growl of approval.

"About time you woke up," he spoke, resting his chin against her ribs. "You have the strangest sleeping patterns, woman."

She chuckled, and the movement caused his head to bounce against her as she blinked away the remains of her sleep. "You're dressed," she commented as her eyes adjusted. "What time is it?"

"Around twenty to eight," he told her, straightening his back and leaving the bed. "I'm going to work in a minute."

"So you woke me up without wanting sex?" she cocked an eyebrow as he began gathering his belongings. "That's a little cruel. And a first for you."

"If I'd wanted to wake you for a shag, my head would have been a little lower than there," he smirked, snatching his wand from his bedside table. "I woke you up so you'd actually do some work and not lie in bed all morning."

"I was going to start at half eight!" she defended, tossing her bed-tangled hair out of her face and sitting up to watch him. "I haven't had enough sleep-

"Well, _I_ would have been fine if you hadn't woken me up," he mumbled. "So, what did Blaise want anyway?"

She flinched at the name but he didn't seem to notice. "Something about Qudditch in Kent," she shrugged, staring into her lap. "I think he said five on Saturday but you'll have to confirm it with him."

He turned to give her a curious look. "You were acting a little off last night," he commented, moving towards her.

"I think Blaise just made me jump when he came over," she supplied quickly. "Come here. Let me do your tie."

"Are you sure?" he questioned, bending a little so she could knot the thin fabric. "Did he say something?"

"Well," she started, licking her lips as she fingered his collar. "Actually-

"I thought as much," he rolled his eyes, looking more amused than anything else. "Don't let it bother you, Granger. His sense of humour's a little difficult to get to grips with, but you will. It's just the way he is. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Right," she replied dumbly, weighing up his words in her head. Maybe Blaise just enjoyed messing with people's heads. Her boyfriend was quite fond of that too, come to think of it. "You're right," she breathed, giving him a shy smile. "I think I was just too tired to really deal with him."

"You'll get used to it," he promised, stealing another quick kiss. "Do you want me to have a word with him? Tell him to pull back a bit?"

_How could that possibly benefit the situation?_

"No, it's fine," she shook her head, grasping his face just to get another taste. "I'm still not completely used to you Slytherin boys yet. You should get to work, Draco."

"Alright," he nodded, standing to leave the room. "I'll see you later."

.

* * *

.

On the Friday evening, Hermione was struggling hard to keep her eyes open as the sentences on the page turned blurry. Castor and Jason were now practising Concealment and Disguise, elements which all the Aurors had agreed that Neville and herself excelled in. As a result, she had been juggling the Auror training and her work on the case as best she could, but it had started to take its toll.

She'd been at the Ministry by six for the last three days and had then worked from Draco's notes on the case in the evenings. Combine that with her inability to resist her lover's charms and insatiable libido, and she was one tired witch who had probably only managed seven hours sleep in the last two nights.

Her lids were falling again...

"Hermione," his masculine voice coaxed her attention. "Maybe you should stop now-

"No," she argued, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. She was leaning against him, the notes resting on his lap. "I need to finish these before tomorrow so I can send them to Harry-

"You can't even be reading them properly," he reasoned, moving to shift the work away. "You need rest-

"No," she stopped him again, slapping his hands away from the parchments. "I can rest tomorrow-

"You're being ridiculous-

"I'm being professional," she countered, but her tone was delicate. "Just give me a few more minutes."

He contemplated arguing with her, but it was never fun or wise when his witch was worn and irritable. It didn't matter anyway, as after a few moments she was a dead weight against him, slowly sliding down into his lap.

The television was on and he was reluctantly interested in a late-night political debate on _Question Time. _Something about Tories and and Lib Dems, but it was rather amusing to watch the toffs squabble. He was absently running his fingers through Hermione's hair, having manoeuvred her comfortably on his legs, when the fireplace roared and Blaise strode into his sitting room.

"Quiet," Draco demanded, glancing down to ensure she was still asleep. His stoicism quickly kicked in and he did his best to look indifferent, but it was rather difficult with her sleeping on his thighs. He remembered then that she was only clad in her pyjamas and one of her flimsy, silk robes, and something instinctive kicked in. "What are you doing here this late?"

"This is late?" his friend mocked, eyeing the television suspiciously. "It's not even midnight."

"Long day," he explained, frowning when Blaise arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, don't you look all cosy," he chided, his tone arrogant and amused. "Domestic life suits you, Malfoy-

"Leave it," he muttered, shooting the other wizard a warning glare. "I'm too tired to banter with you tonight-

"I'm serious," he continued, folding his arms across his chest. "Never thought I'd see this side of you-

"You'll be seeing the pissed off side of me if you carry on," he threatened, keeping his tone quiet. "If you really want to discus my personal shit, we'll do it over some Firewhiskey at the pub-

"Calm yourself, Malfoy," he advised, his eyes lingering on the sleeping witch for a moment. "She must be dead to the world."

"She's had a busy week," he told the dark man, shifting when she released a dreamy moan. "Are you here for a social visit, or what?"

"I came to check you are still coming tomorrow," he said slowly, pausing when he seemed to consider something. "Did she not tell you I came over on Monday?"

"She did," Draco nodded. "I haven't had time to get back to you but I'll be there. Granger said you told her five at Kent, so I'm assuming it's the old Brunway field?"

"Correct," he confirmed, looking at Hermione again as she snuggled tighter into his blond friend. "She seemed a little jittery on Monday."

"You probably just gave her a fright when you Flooed over that late," Draco muttered. "You're hardly the nicest bugger to fall out of the fireplace at midnight-

"Well, you're not exactly a Hufflepuff yourself," Blaise smirked, giving Malfoy a long look. "And she's shagging you-

"Keep your voice down," he grumbled when his lover flinched. "Was there anything else?"

"Well, I thought we could have a drink and a chat," he said, his bistre eyes flickering like swirling soot. "You know; like we used to, when you had a social life-

"Fuck off-

"But I can see you're busy," Blaise finished, gesturing to the slumbering witch. "Again."

"A drink and a chat," he repeated, exhaling as he considered the words. "Alright. Just give me two minutes to take her to bed-

"No, best not," he decided, giving a slow shake of his head. "You do look like shit. We can do it after the game tomorrow."

"That sounds more appropriate," Draco agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Goodnight, Malfoy," he sighed, his eyes switching between the pair one last time before he faded into the fireplace. The parting bellow of the Floo roused Hermione with a start and she sprang up from his lap.

"What was that?" she groaned, glancing dazedly around the room.

"Blaise just left," he murmured into her hair. "Come now. You need to sleep-

"But I didn't finish-

"Shut up," he scowled at her, moving them both off the couch. He caught her legs when she almost tumbled to the floor and gave her a disapproving stare when she huddled against his chest. "See," he said, heading upstairs. "Don't you think it's a little pathetic that I have to carry you to bed?"

"You're so warm," he heard her whisper, and he wasn't sure if she was too tired to hear him or if she'd just chosen to ignore his comment.

So he settled her under the covers, muttering a string of curses when Crookshanks decided to get under his feet. He intended to shoot the scruffy cat a hateful glare and deposit him outside, but instead gave him a rare pet and watched as he stretched out at the foot of the bed. Stripping himself down to his usual boxers, he slid in next to her and smirked when when she instantly sought his heat in her sleep and pressed herself to him.

He loved that it was her instinct to reach for him.

Yes. Loved.

.

* * *

.

That night groaned with one of those storms without the display of lightening shards. Rain drummed against the window with a heavy staccato, and the thunder boomed loud enough to leave echoes behind. The chaos outside had stirred a fitful sleep for Hermione and her constant fidgeting had separated her from Draco in their bed.

It could have been the lack of warmth or one particularly loud thump of thunder that jolted her awake, and she crushed her face into her pillow with frustration. Her forehead was slick with sweat and her breathing was erratic, brought on by storm-induced nightmares that flashed behind her eyelids. She could never remember her dreams, but the whispers of this one were fresh.

She recalled blood. Screams. Eyes and hands.

She heard it then.

The familiar sound of Crookshanks hissing; defensive and low spits.

She spun around, her eyes falling to the corner of the room and they grew wide with panic. Her honey-hazed eyes were having trouble adjusting to the low lighting and trying to comprehend the dark lines and shapes, but there was no mistaking what lingered in her line of sight.

The shadow was human.

She could _feel_ it breathing. Watching.

Nothing definite or distinctive. Just a dark mass. A solid humanoid block that shouldn't have been there.

She was etched out of stone, just fixated on it as fear tried to grip her awareness.

It shifted; no more than an inch, and another feline growl snatched her back into action. She tore her terrified focus to fumble for her wand underneath her pillow.

"_Lumos!_" she shouted once her fingers touched the vine wood, whirling around to direct the light to where the black form had been.

She gasped when she found nothing but air.

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for anything that looked disturbed. She barely heard Draco's waking groan, either from her shout or from the light. She was on her knees on the mattress now, checking every inch of the space, her eyes always coming back to the corner.

Her boyfriend was just gathering his senses when she jumped off the bed and flung open the wardrobe doors, shoving her accusatory wand inside with a quivering hand.

"Granger," he murmured, rubbing his eyes with weariness and confusion. "What the fuck-

"There was someone here!" she stated, working her way around the room with her outstretched arm.

"What are you talking about?" he grumbled, studying her closely as she marched around his room.

"There was someone here," she repeated, slower this time. "There was someone in your room-

"What?"

"I saw them!" she proclaimed, pointing to the corner with her wand. "There! I saw someone there! Just a second ago!"

"That's impossible," he assured her confidently, but she was having none of it. "My wards are impenetrable-

"Well, clearly not!" she screamed, near hysterical now.

He was about to insist that she come back to bed and repeat his assurances that his home was safe, but he felt something. Nothing concrete or particularly vexing; something just felt off. It was like coming home from work and finding your seat already warm.

He sat up and grabbed his own wand to illuminate the room, examining his surroundings with a critical eye, but everything was in its respective place; everything was perfect. If it weren't for Hermione's frenzied movements casting angry shadows against the walls, nothing would have ghosted the unusual.

Besides, his wards were immaculate and virtually unbreakable. There was no way. He knew his girlfriend well enough to know her imagination was ripe and usually inappropriate.

"Granger!" he called when she moved to leave the room. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to search your house," she answered, shooting him an impatient stare.

"You're serious about this?" he questioned, tossing the bedding to the side and blocking her exit. "What did you actually see?"

"I saw a person!" she told him, trying to push past him. "In that corner! Just standing there and watching us sleep! That is what I fucking saw!"

"Calm down," he warned, grabbing her shoulders. "You need to be more specific-

"I'm being as specific as I can!" she countered, failing to brush him off. "I had a nightmare, I woke up and there was someone in the room-

"You had a nightmare," he repeated, giving her a sceptical glare. Yes, he was certain it was her imagination now. Common sense tended to be the deciding factor for him.

"Don't give me that look," she pointed her finger in his face. "I know how that sounds but Crookshanks saw it too! He was hissing at someone."

Draco glimpsed at the cat over her shoulder and frowned. Her faithful pet was indeed acting strangely; sniffing said corner and making suspicious low noises, but it was hardly relevant. The half-kneazle constantly did things he would never understand.

"He could have been hissing at anything," he reasoned, holding firmly onto her shoulders when she struggled again. "You had a nightmare and-

"You're not listening to me," she whined, shaking her head in agitation. "I _know_ there was someone here-

"I'm not listening because it's your imagination," he bit out, annoyed with his disturbed sleep. "It's late and I'm tired

"I just want to check-

"Alright," he snapped, and a wave of tired intolerance stole his tone. "I'll have a quick look around but then we're going back to sleep. Just stay here-

"But-

"Stay here," he snapped, pushing her towards the bed before he stalked out of the room. Lighting his way with his wand, he went into every room of his house and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. After a twenty minute search, he returned to find her sitting on the bed nervously toying with her hands.

"Well?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said simply, releasing the glow of his wand. "There is sod all-

"I know what you're thinking," she mumbled as he got back under the covers. "But I swear, there was someone there-

"Enough," he told her sharply. "It's four in the morning and I'm blood knackered-

"I swear, Draco-

"Just go to sleep."

.

* * *

.

Draco woke alone in the late morning, and her side of the bed was cold. He eyed the empty space with a frown, but slowly the fractured memories of last night came back to him. Her panic flooded his brain; her claims of an intruder loud in his ears. And then he remembered that he had snapped at her and he realised why she was absent.

_Great..._

Well, he wasn't apologising. Her claims had been unfounded and he had been tired as hell. What did she expect?

After a quick shower, he threw on some casual clothes and headed downstairs, finding her on the couch with stressed lines marring her features as she studied her notes. Her face was scrunched with concentration and fatigue, and her hair was still damp at the ends from her morning shower, the water licking at the blue jumper over her jeans.

She glanced up when he took another step into the room and her eyebrows knitted together with distaste. With a defiant grumble, she went straight back to her work, causing his jaw to twitch.

"You're ignoring me," he remarked, crossing his arms and widening his stance. "Don't you think that's a little immature?"

"Nope," she quipped, roughly slamming aside a page. "I don't want to speak to you right now, so I'm not going to."

"Well, that's just stupid," he told her, crossing the room to sit on the opposite couch. "I thought you Gryffindors were meant to have some balls-

"This has nothing to with that," she retorted quickly, abandoning her plan to give him the silent treatment for a moment. "You were a bastard last night-

"And you were a pain in the arse," he countered. "You overreacted to a bad dream-

"It was not a dream," she said forcefully, combing her furious hands through her hair. "I know what I saw-

"Go on then!" he scolded, baring his teeth and deciding he'd had enough of this topic. "Tell me exactly what you saw then, Granger! What did they look like? What clothes were they wearing?"

"I couldn't see," she confessed with a meek voice. "It was dark-

"Look," he breathed. "I know that things have been fucked up recently and I can understand that you may have _thought_ you saw something-

"Don't patronise me, Draco-

"But the wards on my house are completely stable," he continued, trying his best to remain composed. "There was nobody in the room-

"You're wrong," she told him adamantly. "And the way you just brushed it off last night was out of order-

He sighed. "And I'll apologise for that," he offered reluctantly. "If you apologise for overreacting."

The look of offence and shock that crossed her face instantly made him regret his words. "Go to hell, Draco," she said, with a voice as crisp as winter. "I know what I saw."

"Fine," he growled, standing and heading to the kitchen. "You bloody ignore me then. Be nice to have a break from your voice anyway."

It may have been a childish blow, but it made him feel better.

She flinched at his words but remained silent, chewing her tongue inside her mouth. For the first time since last night, she questioned herself, and then her mind randomly led her to thoughts of Blaise. Draco was right; his wards were ingenious. A handful of people could get past them without his magical consent, and Blaise was one of those people.

It had been so dark, but she had sensed a moment of recognition amongst her fear and alarm. The thought struck her like the absent lightening from last night but she quickly shoved it away.

No.

Blaise may have been a little odd and creepy, but he wasn't a late-night prowler with a knack for voyeurism. She was jumping to conclusions again; Draco had warned her about that. But those jolts of unease harassed her mind, and she tried to remember just what he had said to start the unwelcome sensations in her head.

There was just...something not right with her lover's friend. Something that made her want to avoid him and keep him a safe distance away, strangely reminiscent of how she'd regarded Snape. But then, he'd turned out okay in the end.

.

* * *

.

The atmosphere in Draco's four-storey townhouse was frosty at best for the next few hours, with barely a mouthful of words being exchanged between the couple. Draco smothered his instinctive sharp-tongued bites with a bit of effort, while Hermione just buried herself in her work with some further private and troublesome musings about Blaise.

Just after four, the blond strolled down the stairs in his Qudditch gear, a view that almost caused his witch's resolve to crumble. She had long established that she had a healthy fetish for a wizard in a Qudditch uniform, it was pretty evident from her past romances. Viktor, Ron, Cormac; but Draco undoubtedly carried it off the best.

"I'm off then," he mumbled, tossing her a casual look. "Hopefully your attitude will have improved by the time I get home-

"Draco," she stopped him with a surprisingly soft tone, and she paused to lick her lips as the words spilled out of her mouth. "How well do you know Blaise?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you trust him?" she altered her question, regretting her decision to voice her thoughts. She really did need to tame that tongue of hers.

"Of course," he frowned, eyeing her warily. "Why the hell would you ask me that?"

"I don't trust him," she muttered feebly, earning her a snort of disapproval.

"I never asked you to," he said, shifting his broomstick between his hands. "What are you getting at, Granger?"

"Just some of the things he's said," she murmured, looking away from him. She knew she was taking this too far but she couldn't stop it. "It-It's just got me thinking-

"I've told you," he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't mean anything-

"Maybe," she cut him off, her words tumbling out of her mouth dangerously now. "But...but everything that's happened...what if...

She trailed off when she realised what she was doing, but her mind finished for her, and the incomplete sentence hung between them like a static omen. They locked eyes, his glare decorated with dark and bitter swirls and hers round like hesitant hazelnuts. The implications cracked between them, but there was an unsaid understanding that if she left the words to simmer in silence, it would be forgotten.

And forgetting sounded appealing.

She exhaled and decided that she'd argued with Draco enough for one day, and it seemed foolish to antagonise his temper when even she didn't understand what she was trying to say. She closed her eyes and slowly walked towards him, her hand quivering slightly as she gave his cheek a slow stroke

"Nothing," she whispered, her eyes sad and sorry. "Just be careful."

His brow twitched but he offered her a stiff nod but seemed to satisfy her as she leaned in to nip his unresponsive lips.

"I'm going to have a bath," she mumbled, turning away from him.

"You had a shower this morning."

"I know," she said over her shoulder. "I think a bath will help me relax. Enjoy you're game."

He watched her leave the room with wavering eyes and grinding teeth. He was angry, confused, and irritated; emotions all stirred by her. But underneath all those red and clawing thrills, the subtle sliver of concern grabbed his notice. With a huff-come-groan, he stomped to the fireplace but called out a different address to the one he'd intended.

He'd been to Caleb and Amelia's quaint cottage just outside Mayfield a few times, so when the sitting room was empty, he knew where to search for the inhabitants. He found Warrington hunched over the desk in his makeshift study, his blue eyes scanning the aged pages before Draco cleared his throat.

"Malfoy," Caleb greeted, placing down his book to eye his guest. "You didn't mention coming round tonight."

"It wasn't planned," the pale wizard shrugged. "Is your fiancé here?"

"Amelia's visiting her parents," he replied with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"I'm on my way to a Quidditch game," Draco explained, gesturing to his broom. "Granger had an...odd moment last night. I was going to ask if she would mind just popping over for a bit."

"I see," Warrington said, giving the blond a contemplative click of his tongue. "Well, I suppose I could drop by with some work. I could use her opinion on some of the details anyway."

"Okay," he accepted the compromise, deciding that he could trust the man enough. "And don't tell her I mentioned this. She said she was having a bath so you should leave it for a bit."

"Understood," he nodded, a sly look stealing his face. "You know, a thank you wouldn't hurt-

"Don't push your luck," Draco rolled his eyes as he prepared to leave. "I'll be back around ten."

.

* * *

.

Hermione was under the surface, trying to see how many floating seconds could tick by before her lungs and head started to burn. The soothing bubbles had long since dissipated and the water had turned lukewarm with time, causing weak shivers to weave up her spine. She was pushing a minute when she yielded and lunged out of the tub, gasping in the air with welcome pants.

Raking back her drenched curls, she pulled herself out of the bath and wrapped herself in the robe Narcissa had given her for Christmas; a ridiculously expensive and comfortable garment consisting of fluff and bliss. Releasing a small moan when the satin-soft material wrapped around her skin, she roughly towel-dried her hair when she realised she must have left her wand downstairs.

With calm and lazy footfalls, she headed to the sitting room with the intention of watching the soaps and moping with her Merlot. She gave the room a quick scan for her wand and frowned when she didn't spot it. And just when she remembered that she had actually left it in the kitchen, everything changed.

There was the smallest sound; nothing more than a light shuffle.

And then she could hear the breathing. Near-silent puffs of air that were almost shrouded by the wind outside.

It was behind her. She could feel the eyes now, roaming her back.

Her pupils went to the corners of her eyes, and she just glimpsed the blurry fringe of a shape before she whipped herself round, her limbs and brain adrenaline-drunk as she tried to sprint for her wand.

She was about to _Accio _but she was caught roughly by the arm and hurled back into the living room, her head catching the corner of the table as she fell. She sucked in a breath at the sting and felt a warm lick of blood move by her ear.

She looked up then. And the face was familiar. And she was horrified. She had been so wrong.

And the man gave her a smile. A genuine smile that made her want to scream.

She just stared for a second in freezing shock, missing when the ever-faithful Crookshanks clawed at the intruder's leg. The smile was gone, replaced by a snarl of contempt, and he delivered a swift kick to her innocent cat's stomach. The painful whine from her beloved pet shattered something in her head and was on her feet, her own injury completely forgotten.

She was grabbed again almost immediately, the firm hand slithering into her curls, yanking at her scalp and she shrieked at the biting heat. She was tossed away again, her leg colliding awkwardly with the wall, and she yelped when she felt something dislocate or snap. And it hurt. She was too flustered to _Accio _her wand now; she needed to reach it.

She looked up as he neared her, and summoning all of her strength she shoved at his legs until she heard him tumble, flinching when she felt some of him collapse on her. Hastily pulling herself up, she cried out when another snap shot through her foot and she was on her knees, crawling desperately as frightened tears bled down her cheeks.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

And that was it. She was stiff and silent, carved out of terrified ice and helpless. Face down with her cheek pressing against the cold floorboards, her mind was crying with splintering panic and dread.

She felt him roll her onto her back and she was forced to stare at the ceiling until his smiling face seeped into her vision. She was willing her muscles to comply. To _run._ But she was inanimate; a lifeless doll.

A toy.

"I had a feeling you would make this difficult for me," he told her, his voice scratchy and intrusive.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest when she felt his hand reach for the tie of her bathrobe. And she could do nothing.

She was powerless and in pain. And it was killing her.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Sorry, this chapter took a little longer than expected but health issues and blah blah blah...Nothing to do with the wine by the way! We blame daddy for the genetic glitch!

Ah...feels quite nice to do a semi-cliffy again! Not much to say...There's maybe three chapters left although not entirely sure and the epilogue is already done.

Massive thanks to everyone who took the time to review. This story has gotten so much more positive feedback than I expected and if I could, I would snog everyone who has reviewed/favourited\alerted for showing an interest. Or throw a wine party for you all! Whatever you fancy!

So yeah...hope the chapter was okay. Lend me your thoughts. Massive thanks to **desirable69 **for your multiple 'p.s's and the lovely words that cheered me up after a shit day at work!

As always, there's been wine, cigarettes and a night so late the birds are singing outside!

Read and review please...if this story reaches 500 reviews I might have a blissful hernia...

**Next Chapter: ...well, you'll find out who it is...and what happens to our helpless Hermione...**


	30. Bruised

_Disclaimer: Nope...not a thing...And Draco's still not up for sale...sigh..._

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 30: Bruised.

.

The body-bind curse restricted her chest, restraining her lungs which were trying to cope with her panic. She needed to pant and release the startled air from her searing ribcage, but she couldn't. Her brain was practically pulsating with her fear and hysteria that also needed to escape; but she was helpless.

Not being able to see was the worst thing. Her chocolate eyes were smeared with milky tears, unwillingly staring at the grey ceiling now that he had moved out of her sight. She could hear shuffling and smoky, masculine breaths that stabbed her senses like little glass bullets.

There was a pressure by her stomach again, and this time she could feel the knot of her robe clumsily tugged loose.

A new and consuming shockwave of horror made her insides tremble, and her brain and lungs felt swollen enough to rupture.

She wondered briefly if this was how it felt to be buried alive, or to be crushed in a giant's fist.

There was a scream lodged in her throat, along with bile and the urge to vomit, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Nothing.

She felt the robe shift over her skin once the tie was released, sliding a little but thankfully catching at the rise of her breasts. But the whisper of a blessing lasted less than a second when she felt a small push, and the material tumbled away and huddled at her sides, framing her exposed and vulnerable flesh like curtains on a stage.

The instinct to cover herself was screaming, and the screaming grew louder when it was unanswered.

_Oh god..._

The curse wouldn't let her cry...

She heard his breathing quicken; repulsively excited sputters.

Then he was in her vision again, an imposing shadow too close to her face. His breath smelt of arousal and it harassed her face, drafting the small gems of sweat that were starting to form and flicking at her eyelashes.

His face was ashen and grey from his time in St. Mungo's, and he was close enough that she could see unhealthy blue veins behind his ghostly face and neck. His dark hair was greasy and looked more like tar painted to his head, and his pupils were dilated so much she couldn't even catch the colour of his irises. He was vile; almost slobbering like a feral beast with no concept of control and it was paralysing, gripping her heart with spikes and barbs.

Graham Montague looked demented...

He was smiling again, flashing his neglected and damaged teeth at her, and they looked like shards of quartz. He looked sick. Disturbed. Even possessed. Like there was nothing reasonable or tameable there; like he was a shell or a machine. His face moved closer and she was so scared. She couldn't let him touch her...she felt like she was going to implode...

..._No, no, no, no_...

"I'm not going to kill you," he said by her ear, and his voice was grazing and harsh. "That's not _my_ job."

_Job?_

The confusion distracted her for a fraction of a second, but fear always won. Fear was blinding and strangling after all, and she hoped it would make her black out. She craved darkness. A disruption. Anything.

_Draco..._

"I was promised this," he continued, his voice repulsively eager and stimulated. He was jittery and animated, like a starved hyaena who had stumbled across a meaty carcass. "He promised me a turn."

_He? Someone else...More than one..._

And then there was a hand at her throat; not tight or clenched, just there to feel her pulse throb against his palm. With a twist of his form, he was straddling her naked hips and leering down at her. The compulsion to vomit was engrossing when the rough fabric of his trousers gnawed a couple inches north of her sensitive part.

All she could do was feel.

It was all trapped in her ribcage; all the dormant tears, shouts and physical instincts, and the ambushed notions felt like bubbling lava. And it was fucking painful. She could feel her foot cocked awkwardly to the side and knew it was slowly turning grey. She could feel blood still trickling down her temple and the hit was a roaring agony at the side of her head.

That's all there was. Just him, and the pain, and racing impossible pleas. And her nakedness...her vulnerability.

_Get away from me..._

And the hand slowly started going down, his fingers bending so his nails became claws. The friction was branding and she felt her skin give way to blood when the fingers scraped the dip between her breasts.

And the puncturing digits kept on going. Lower and lower, leaving a ribbon of red in the wake that she could feel pooling into her navel. But the stream went further down, over her hips and between her legs, sliding over his promised prize.

_He was promised me..._

She tried to picture herself for a second with long scratch halving her and realised she probably looked like she been dissected by untrained hands and a blunt knife.

He moved out of her vision again, and the sickening sound of an unfastening zip rumbled in her ears. She silently begged again, to forgotten deities she had never believed in. She bantered and bargained with lost Gods for the pain and shock to steal the light. For her to slip into unconsciousness. For anything but awareness.

But they ignored her.

And then his mouth was against her flesh, his teeth battering her chest and neck with no composure. It was just a frenzied attack on her body, leaving behind bumpy oval marks, some seeping with blood and others not. But they all hurt.

Montague adjusted himself so he was a straddling the tops of her thighs, and she could feel the awful stretch of his arousal between her hips.

He was in her face again, his cheeks and lips stained with her blood from the scratches. He hovered above her, his black pools sparkling with enjoyment. He leaned in and punished her mouth with a grotesque assault that forced her to taste the bitter tang of her own blood.

"This won't be quick," he promised as he pulled away, baring his red-flecked, jagged teeth to her one last time.

He was gone again, and she knew what was next. There was only one thing left to come. It was inevitable, and she couldn't do anything. Couldn't even see what he was doing to prepare herself.

She could hear shuffling again, maybe clothes but she couldn't be sure.

But then she heard a wonderful noise.

The beautiful purr of the fireplace.

She wondered if she had too-quickly jumped to the conclusion that the guest was an ally, but she felt Montague freeze on top of her and tense.

And a then the new voice swore under a masculine and familiar voice. She could hear a quick shift of robes and then the new voice was loud.

"_Stupefy!_" it shouted, and Montague's weight was thrown off her. She heard a loud thump of a body hitting a wall before it was crashing to the floor.

And then there were sprinting footsteps racing towards her, and Caleb's concerned face was in her sight. He was glancing over her, no doubt trying calculate her injuries but her pain was forgotten for the moment.

The relief was numbing, even it was just temporary.

"Granger," he said, looking into her dead eyes. "Snap out of it. Come on." He was shaking her a little with confusion, but a look of realisation crossed his face. "Fuck," he muttered, waving his wand over her. "_Finite Incantantem._"

She was free.

And all the trapped emotions and urges exploded out of her. She sucked in all the air she could and screamed so loud and hard it felt like her throat was ripping inside. She hurled herself at Caleb, needing to touch someone who she trusted. Needing to know he was real.

Caleb's eyes tried to absorb everything. Her body was splashed with crimson blemishes and scratches. There were bite-marks too, but he couldn't triage the damage when she was trembling so much. He slowly pushed her back to grab her robe and cover her modesty, scowling when her blood instantly dyed the fabric an eerie burgundy.

"It's alright," he assured her as she continued to bawl. "It's okay now, Granger."

She was quaking so much...

"I need to get you to St. Mungo's," he explained carefully, trying to make eye contact. "Look at me, Hermione. You're hurt-

"Just-just get me away from him," she stuttered, desperately burying her face into her friend's chest.

He shot a look over to the fallen wizard and his rage twitched.

"_Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Petrificus Totalus!"_

With Montague's wand in his hand and safely certain that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a good while, he picked Hermione up as gently as he could, noticing the unnatural bend of her ankle. She was quickly gathering her senses having just needed to release her outburst but she was still howling like a broken woman. A violated witch. A terrified girl.

It had gathered in her lungs to the point of torture and it had been released in one massive torrent. The aftershocks were stealing her now; quieter cries but she was still quivering like she'd been left to battle Arctic winds.

"It's okay," he told her again. "I've got you." He felt her clutching him for dear life. "Can I Apparate from here?" he asked her, frowning when he felt her shake her head.

"Wait!" she yelped suddenly, and her urgency stopped him dead. "Crookshanks, get Crookshanks!"

He found the small bundle of ginger fur a little stunned but alive and he bent down so she could gather her pet in her arms.

Satisfied that they could leave, he headed for Draco's front door, peering through the glass to see if the road was clear and thanked Merlin when it was empty. He ran out into the street and ducked behind a tree on the opposite side. Gathering his tormenting load a little tighter, he did a scan to make sure he was unnoticed before promptly Apparating to _Purge and Dowse Ltd _and quickly rushing through the window.

"I need a Healer!" he shouted one he was inside the reception, and two Mediwizards were at his side instantly with a charmed stretcher following them. "She's been attacked," he told them, setting her down and noticing that Hermione now looked dazed and was sniffling with unsettling sobs. He plucked Crookshanks from her grip, tucking him under his arm as they settled her on the stretcher.

"Right," the elder of the two studied the witch carefully before he turned to his colleague. "Take her to the fourth floor," he instructed, turning back to Caleb. "What's your relationship to the victim?"

"I'm her friend," Warrington answered, watching as Hermione disappeared from his sight. "I need to contact the Ministry immediately, and her...family."

"You can use the Floo behind the desk," he offered. "And failing that ask the Mediwitch to use one of the owls. But you must stick around because I need to call the Aurors about this."

"Thank you," Caleb nodded, heading for the desk and thanking a witch who offered to look after the cat while he sued the fireplace.

The first thing he did was Floocall the Ministry, and was promptly put through to Shacklebolt. He explained everything he knew and was assured that Aurors were on their way to Draco's house and the hospital by the time the call had come to an end.

And then he hit a problem...

He had no idea where Draco was. If his own owl would have been at hand, then maybe he could have tracked Malfoy, but the St Mungo's owls had nothing to work with. With a hopeful flash of genius, he tried Malfoy Manor and allowed himself a sigh of relief when a witch's floating head greeted him.

"Narcissa," he greeted bluntly, forgetting formalities under the circumstances. "I need you to send your owl for Draco and tell him to come to St Mungo's-

"St Mungo's?" she repeated with a hint of alarm. "What's-

"Hermione's been attacked," he rushed out, noting the shock on the woman's face. "Will your owl be able to find him?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered, completely frazzled. "I'll send one straight away. Is she alright? Is she-

"She's with the Healers now," he explained steadily. "I don't know much but I need to get to Draco-

"I'll send it now," she said, and her head was thrashing around in her flustered state. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

She ended the communication and Caleb released a calming breath before he sent one of the hospital's owls for Amelia. He contemplated trying to contact Potter and Weasley but figured that Harry was an Auror so he'd be informed shortly.

He had done all he could.

He took a minute just to swallow everything that had happened. It was a blur of cries and blood but he felt like he'd done all he could. He hoped he had...

A few minutes later a Mediwitch told him that an Auror needed to speak with him, and he was led to a small waiting room on the fourth floor where a troubled Leandra was waiting for him and asked him to explain everything he knew.

So he did.

.

* * *

.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd ran, but he was charging through the hospital's corridors as fast as his legs would allow. His sprint didn't slow when he recognised Caleb sitting on a chair on the fourth floor, his forehead resting against his fists before he heard the blond's frantic footfalls.

"Where is she?" he spat out, his face a striking mixture of fury and panic. "Where the hell is she?"

"She's in there," Caleb gestured to a door, but he grabbed the other wizard when he made a move for it. "You can't go in there yet-

"Get the fuck off me!" Draco yelled, trying to push away the larger man. "Get _off_ me, Warrington or I swear-

"They're not finished," he told his friend firmly. "They can't be disturbed-

"Fuck!" he blurted, and he swung his fist as the wall with a satisfying crunch. The wall magically fixed itself so he hit it again and again until he couldn't feel his fist. He turned back to Caleb, ignoring pounding pain that tingled his knuckles. "How long?"

"I'm not sure-

"_How long?"_ he bit out between clenched teeth, and the dark tone sobered Caleb.

"She's been in there about half an hour," the dark-haired man said as calmly as he could. "But I don't know how long it will take."

And then Draco's face changed to something close to shame and self-loathing.

"I took that long?" he questioned, appearing defeated as he absorbed the information. "But I came as soon as-

"It was hard to find you," Caleb said with a sigh. "Malfoy, sit down for a minute."

He numbly complied, shaking slightly with either anger or shock as he took the chair next to where the other wizard had been seated. "Have they said anything?"

"Nothing," he shook his head as he retook his seat. "Your mother's here by the way; she's upstairs with Amelia in the tearoom-

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure I should-

"Just tell me," Draco interrupted, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead with stressed fingers. "Now."

Caleb exhaled. "I went over like you asked me to," he started, carefully selecting his words. "And Montague was there-

"I bloody knew it was him," he snapped harshly, digging his nails into his palms. "I will _kill_ him when I find him. Where is he now?"

"The Aurors have him," he replied.

"And what did you see?" Draco pushed, noting the other man's hesitant expression. "What was he doing? And don't you fucking patronise me, Warrington. You tell me now."

"She was bleeding a lot," he continued with a cringe. "And I think she had a head injury and her foot looked pretty messed up, but I don't know." He paused to snatch another breath, turning away from his companion. "She was naked, Malfoy."

And he would swear that he saw the thin strings of Draco's sanity snap like delicate blades of grass.

"Has she been-

"I don't know," he cut in quickly. "I think I may have got there in time, but I'm not sure."

The ever-stoic and unbreakable Malfoy looked broken.

He was silent for long minutes, evidently trying to regain his mind and senses. A storm of emotions glided over his pale features, all intense and powerful and Warrington could see they needed space. Offering Draco a wary pat on the back, he rose from his chair and decided it was best to leave him with his tempestuous thoughts.

"Caleb," he called, stopping the other wizard's exit. "Thank you."

The other man turned slowly to give the blond a nod of support. "I'll go tell Narcissa you're here-

"Tell my mother and any other visitors not to come here until I say so," Draco demanded with a hard voice, but it wavered towards the end.

"Will do," Caleb assured, before he allowed him his violent privacy.

Satisfied he was alone now, Draco felt infuriated heat bleed from his eyes and down his cheeks. He was pulling at his hair and his face was creased with livid lines as he battled to keep his composure. He hadn't broken down like this since his sixth year, but this was far more brutal and vicious. Even when his father had died he had remained detached, but this was shattering him.

He just needed to know if she'd been _touched_. And if she had...Merlin save any human within a mile radius. And Montague was as good as dead. Azkaban wasn't even a factor.

His thoughts were that of an institutionalised man; reckless and volatile. Bordering so dangerously on rabid and deranged.

He had known it was Montague...He'd told her that it was him. He'd never had a hollow victory before but it felt like hell. And then he'd promised her his home was safe.

_My wards are impenetrable..._

_The wards on my house are completely stable..._

_My home is safe..._

He had said all these things. He had given her these vows of security.

He'd been wrong.

He had lied to her.

He'd been so confident...

And he thought back to their fight earlier in the day and he hated himself.

He had to wait another _thirty minutes_ with his fleeing stability before a Healer slipped out of the room Caleb had pointed out, and Draco grabbed the stumpy man within a second.

"Well?" he snarled, feeling the man jump.

"You must be Mr Malfoy," the short man said quietly, evidently intimidated. "I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until the Mediwitches are finished. They're just cleaning up and you can go inside in a few minutes-

"And she's alright?" Draco asked sharply, uncaring if his hold on the man was a little tight.

"She's doing fine," he told him, and the younger wizard's grip lessened. "Most of her injuries were minor and are healing nicely. I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but as you're not family I can't discuss-

"Just answer me one thing!" he commanded loudly before the Healer could finish, but he struggled with the words and his voice went low. "Was she...was she raped?"

The man frowned with sympathy that would have irked him in any other situation. "No," the Healer answered, and Draco felt his sanity slowly fall back into place. "Although, there a certain injuries that would indicate that it was the attacker's intention, but no. She's okay."

_Attacker's intention..._

Montague was a breathing corpse, he just didn't know it yet.

He sat back down, accompanied by long minutes as his head was scolded with relief and rage that could kill. But she hadn't been raped...She would be fine...

"Mr Malfoy," a petite Mediwitch broke his thoughts as she ducked into the corridor, and he was instantly on his feet and trying to get into the room. "She's a little disorientated from the potions, but other than that she's absolutely fine. We'd like to keep her in over night just to keep an eye on her head injury and there's a spare bed if-

"Just fucking let me in!" he interrupted restlessly, ready to curse the woman if she didn't get out his way. With the small bob of her head, he was shoving her aside and stampeding into the room, but the second he saw her, he froze.

She was sitting up, staring unflinchingly at her hands resting against her sheet-covered legs. She looked fragile and a little dizzy in the flimsy hospital gown, and the delicate sadness on her face made him ache. But it was the pear-yellow stains all over her skin that made his anger and anguish flare again. The near-healed bruises were everywhere, like someone had scattered sunflower petals all over her.

And the ones that were rimmed with cherry-pink rings made him feel sick.

As if snapping out of her trance, she slowly raised her head and caught his eyes. Her expression morphed into a relived smile that was only slightly fractured, but stunning nonetheless. He would probably never know why, but the gesture made him feel nothing but guilt. His feet wouldn't move even though he was yearning to touch her. He just couldn't.

"I'm sorry," he said before he could think about it, and her face fell.

"Why would you be sorry?" she asked him, frowning when he didn't make any hint to answer her. Her tone was croaky, like she'd been screaming for days and it was another blow to his crumbling brain. "Why are you standing over there?" she questioned. "Come here-

"I don't want to hurt you," he muttered quietly, his fists clenching.

"You won't," she argued, her gaze imploring him to sit by her. "Please, Draco. I need you right now."

He faltered. He felt like he didn't have the right to touch her, but he couldn't deny her. Why couldn't she see that every bruise was signed by his conscience? Why had he been so arrogant about his wards? Why had he left her alone? Why had he-

"Draco," she called again, patting the mattress. "Come here. It's okay."

His steps were deceptively graceful and poised as he neared the bed, and he eased himself down next to her. She didn't waste a heartbeat before crawling into his lap and nestling her face against his chest. He smelled like hard work and rain and was the embodiment of masculine protection in his Quidditch uniform, and it felt divine to touch him. She felt his arms slowly snake around her waist like he was scared of cracking her and she frowned.

"Tighter, Draco," she requested, and his grip strengthened a bit. But not enough. "A bit more."

And then he was bracing her like she would float away, smothering her back with his hands and running them over hair; and just touching every bit of her that he could. She sighed into him. This was what she had needed. And she could tell he needed it too.

His frantic fingers stopped so he was just cradling her, rocking her back and forth, and she inhaled his male scent like she'd been starved of him.

"That's better," she murmured sleepily.

"You need to tell me what happened," he demanded, his lips brushing her hair. "I need to know."

She tensed. He had managed to temporarily scare away the flashbacks that had sparked against her eyelids, and now she had to relive them again. He pulled away from her and held her cheeks between his palms, linking their stares in a tight lock.

"Tell me," he finalised, despising the glitters of tears that clouded her eyes.

"Okay," she nodded hesitantly, nibbling her lip. "I'd just gotten out of the shower and I went downstairs and he was there. We...struggled for a little but he got me with the body-bind curse...

Her sentence fizzled away and Draco gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Go on."

"And then he took off my robe," she mumbled, her eyes falling away from his. "And then he said some things and he scratched and bit me and then Caleb came."

His chest was heaving in his attempts to calm his rage when she had finished and she nibbled her lip. "It could have been worse," she offered quietly, regretting it when she heard him growl. "Draco-

"Worse?" he snarled, and his embrace went tight again; possessive and firm. "He tried to rape you-

"Don't," she whined, gripping the fabric of his uniform. "I can't-

"He was going to kill you."

And another flashback rattled her mind. "No," she stated firmly, and she could feel his confusion. "No, he said something. He said it wasn't his job to kill me. He said that someone had promised me for him."

Draco was still for a few moments so she looked up at him and nervously licked her lips. She could see the clogs in his head turning but his face was one of physical pain. "We were right," she whispered softly, like the words frightened her. "There's more than one."

His features drooped, like her revelation had drained him of life and fight. "It isn't over," he said, more to himself. "Fucking hell."

She didn't know what to say. The fact was there was nothing either of them could say or do to make the situation any less dire. So he just held her, and she just rested against him for heavy minutes in a sympathetic silence that lasted somewhere between a second and a slow hour.

Just breathing and holding. Just time.

"I love you," Draco chased away the calm, the quiet confession cascading down her curls to fall into her ear.

A wave of something wonderful washed over her, and it felt like sunshine and syrup. Like satin and sonnets. It sedated her thoughts of Montague, if only momentarily but she knew in the long run, her lover's words would leave a stronger mark than the events of today.

She'd seen death and fought psychopaths before, but this was the first time Draco Malfoy had told her he loved her. She knew she'd be okay, and she even had a feeling that his confession would would help her bury this nightmare at the back with the others.

"I love you," she told him, adoring the way it sauntered off her tongue. "I think I'd like to go to bed now."

"You don't want to see the others?" he asked her, privately cocking an eyebrow.

"Not tonight," she shook her head. "I'm really tired."

"Alright," he agreed, reluctantly peeling himself away from her. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

And leaving her alone was harder than it should have been, but then the last time he'd left her, she'd almost been...

There were six people in the waiting room, separated into two very obvious groups. Amelia, Caleb and his mother were sat on one side, and Potter, Weasley and Weaslette-turned-Pottette were on the other. But as different as they were, they all had the same reaction when they noticed him walking down the corridor. Questions were fired at him from every angle like off-target darts and he gave the small crowd a cold glare.

"Enough!" he bellowed over them, a little shocked when they actually stopped shouting. "Look, she's bloody exhausted and she just wants to go to sleep. You can see her tomorrow-

"I want to see her now!" Weasley argued, daring some steps towards the blond. "You're not her spokesman, Malfoy. I want to know she's okay-

"She's fine," Draco told the redhead with more patience than he thought was appropriate for shorter man. "But she's tired and she's going to sleep-

"Well, then I-

"Leave it, Ron," Harry cut off his friend, gaining a subtle look of surprise from Malfoy. "Hermione's had a rough day. Let's just come back tomorrow when she's had some rest."

With a look of betrayal and loud agitation, Ron pushed himself past Draco and was down the corridor with a bolt. Caleb and Amelia left next, the latter asking him to give his girlfriend their best. Potter's plump wife followed with an amiable smile, and he was left with his mother and Captain Immortality.

"I went home and found some of your clothes," Narcissa told him, handing him a bag. "How is she?"

"Better than I expected," he answered honestly. "You can ask her yourself tomorrow."

"She's a fighter," his mother smiled knowingly, giving her son a quick peck on the cheek. "I know she'll be fine. I'm very proud of you."

He nodded awkwardly, wondering what exactly he had done to earn her praise. "I'll owl you first thing tomorrow," he assured her, and she disappeared, leaving him alone with Potter. The green-eyed man looked troubled but was clearly handling it better than Draco had been. He turned to Malfoy with a strange look on his face, almost like he was preparing to ask him a favour.

"Kingsley contacted me earlier," the dark-haired wizard started randomly. "He's asked me to question Montague tomorrow and one of the head investigators needs to be there too."

"But," Draco frowned as he absorbed the information. "Granger and I-

"I know," Harry sighed, rubbing his stressed eyes. "You and I will be dealing with Montague tomorrow afternoon. Kingsley trusts that we can remain professional-

"Fuck off," the blond chuckled without humour. "You want me to sit in the room with the man who tried to _rape_ my girlfriend and be _professional_?"

"Aside from Hermione, you and I are the ones who have worked most on the case," he reasoned, but it was evident he was completely against the prospect too. "Look, it will be hard for me too; she's my best friend-

"No," Draco said simply, eyeing the other man like he was a fool for asking. "I'm not promising to restrain myself in a room with him-

"Well, then Hermione is the only other option," Harry told him. "Would you rather she was in the room with him?"

"Don't try and manipulate me," Draco cautioned with a deep voice. "You don't want to try my temper right now."

"She's the only other-

"I'll do it," he interrupted steadily, fixing the man with a bitter scowl. "But I'm not promising you shit, Potter."

Harry looked like he considered disputing further but slowly nodded his head in acceptance. "I'll see you tomorrow then," he muttered, moving past him. "Just let her know I love her."

Draco glowered at the man's retreating back.

_Not like I do._

.

* * *

.

Draco had quickly rejected the idea of sleeping on the visitor's cot and had decided the proximity the single-bed enforced was preferable. She was pressed against him while he traced random shapes at the bottom of her spine, secure and safe in his arms. She needed to be as close as possible; his sanity was still questionable but she was somewhat of a drug for it.

"And you're sure that's a good idea?" Hermione mumbled lazily, stroking the invisible hairs on his chest with drowsy fingertips. "The three of you in a room together just sounds dangerous."

"It's a shit idea," he breathed against her face, hip lips resting between her eyes. "But there's no other option."

"And you're okay with it?" she asked, reaching up to brush his jaw.

"Of course I'm not," Draco said without his usual bite. "But I do want to see the fucker. I had just planned it without restrictions and Potter-

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," she pleaded gently, but she knew it was futile. "Please?"

"I can't," he rasped out, feathering a kiss against her forehead. "I won't."

She exhaled and allowed a ripe delay between them. "I'm not sure I can sleep," she admitted in a tone that was almost embarrassed. "I keep...thinking about it when I close my eyes."

He tugged her tighter and scowled. "Can I do anything?"

She thought about it for a moment and then tilted her head so she could capture his sublime mouth with an almost-kiss that felt more like a petal being dragged across her lips.

"Just keep doing this," she murmured faintly, burrowing her face between his shoulder and neck. "I think it's getting better."

And without being asked, he waited until she was asleep before his lids drifted shut. The inevitable sickening and turbulent notions made sleep difficult to grasp, but the last thought that shuffled through his brain before he managed to taste darkness didn't involve Montague.

It was Hermione's realisation from earlier.

_We were right. There's more than one._

.

* * *

.

a/n: Fuck it! The Wine Party's on! I'm having a private one right now because...You people are angels! 550+ reviews? Wow... The response to the last chapter was just...amazing. Words can't explain! And _dear Gods_ I hope this chapter lived up to it...If not...I'm shit...

So it's not over yet loves...Close! But not quite! I fussed with Draco's 'I love you' for bloody hours...putting it in and taking it out...But I decided that it would take something like this for Draco to realise he loves her. Does this mean he's gonna be a soppy prat from now on...? Pfffft not likely! Soppy Draco is not attractive...ever! Soppy men in general are a massive fail!

Oh hell...I'm stressing now...I really hope this was okay...I got it up as quick as I could because...well...you asked for it!

Massive thanks to **Madamemouse **who took the time and effort to go back and review every chapter...you're a star! And I just can't decide which review for the last chapter made me laugh/smile/blush/think the most because everyone was just great. So thanks to everyone...especially the people who wrote a fair bit...You know who you are, and you get the most wine...

And thanks to everyone who gave me their theories...I think two of you guessed correctly so yay you! You get lots of wine too! Oh, and cheese and crackers as **kavii **suggested!

And for the multiple people who called me (hehe) Evil...Should I remove my 'quick-updates-halo?'

Give me your thoughts...Think I'm going to have a mental breakdown from the nerves...So yeah...Read + Review please...

**Next Chapter: Interviews and some more drama...The metaphorical fan's getting another battering...**


	31. Fallen

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 31: Fallen.

.

Hermione had never managed to settle into a satisfying sleep, and the busy bustle of the hospital hadn't really helped. If the sky's indigo hue was anything to go by, it was around seven in the morning, and despite the lack of sleep, she actually felt okay. She would admit, albeit begrudgingly, that she was still shaken and that she would probably be jumpy for a few weeks, but had Montague been worse than Dolohov? Possibly. The Dementors? No. Bellatrix? Fuck No.

The memories and flashbacks were violent and gave her painful shivers, but she knew they would weaken with time. She hoped they would. The silver-lining came with the word _almost_. She'd _almost_ been raped, She'd escaped the most traumatic thing she could imagine. She wasn't one of the fallen; one of the broken.

And she _would not_ be fragile and beaten. She would be fine.

As she had said yesterday; it really could have been so much worse, and even if it was a strange concept to consider, she was bloody lucky. Caleb was getting a massive bonus with his next pay and anything else he wanted. That man was a friend for life.

One good thing had come from her early rise. Draco's heavy breaths were feathering across her face and they were wonderfully calming as she studied his face. He was normally unguarded in his sleep; his features softer and relaxed, but not today. His face was dotted with agitated creases, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips in a tight line.

She'd never seen him look so subconsciously enraged before but it was oddly fascinating. His jaw would clench or his eyes would twitch occasionally, and there was something striking about every movement and detail of his face that had her addicted. Hell, she was addicted to every inch and cell of the man.

And he loved her.

And it was intoxicating. She felt refreshed and inspired. Content.

She'd never known someone like him. Someone so protective and fiery. Someone who could make her think and keep her on eager toes. Someone so deliriously passionate and delicious. And she loved him. Every little thing about him. And it made her feel powerful.

Her fingers went up to fiddle with her otter necklace and a shy smile graced her lips.

Yes, she was in love with Draco Malfoy, and he loved her apparently. She wondered how Satan's ice-skating lessons with Jane Torvill were going...

Her one-time bully. The first person she'd ever punched. The first person to call her-

"Stop watching me sleep, Granger," a gruff voice stole her musings, and two ashy eyes slowly opened. "It's bloody annoying."

"Good morning to you too," she gave him a small smile. She felt his hold on her tighten and she nipped at his lips. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," he muttered, pushing her back slightly so he could look over her form. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," she said honestly, glancing down at herself and realising almost all of the her bruises had dissipated. "My foot feels a little tender but we both know I've had worse." She sighed and looked back up to his volatile eyes. "I should have listened to you about him."

He felt his anger bubble under his skin just at the mere mention of him.

"You should have," he agreed stiffly, but it lacked the arrogance she'd expected. "I'll deal with him later."

She could see the rage slowly taking over him again, and the unsettling thing was she wanted him to be angry. She wanted Montague to suffer, but not at her lover's expense with a stay in Azkaban. She was well-acquainted with his temper and knew that her rational side balanced it out perfectly, but there were times when her reasonable demeanour was more of an impediment than a blessing. It always won though.

She breathed out. "I still don't think that's a good idea," she mumbled. "I think I should talk to Kingsley about that-

"Don't," he told her, his scowl strong and back into place. "It might be my only chance to get the prick-

"And what exactly do you intend to-

"It's best you don't know," he stopped her, scowling when she grimaced. "How can you not be angry about this, Hermione?"

"I _am _angry," she affirmed squarely. "But I trust the Ministry to handle it appropriately-

"Fucking Gryffindors and your morals," he chastised with a grumble. "Some things need to be _handled _personally-

"Then just promise me one thing," she requested, sliding her thumb across his collarbone in weak attempt to soothe his agitation. "Nothing illegal."

"But a _Crucio_-

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, and he looked infuriated with her plea. "Promise me. Just get the information you can and let him rot in Azkaban."

"Nothing illegal," he repeated with a nod of agreement. "But I want more than information-

"Draco-

"You can't win this one, Granger," the blond snarled with a foreboding voice. "I've agreed to your terms and the rest is up to me. There are plenty of _legal _ways to fuck him over-

"But Harry-

"Potter will stay out of my way if he knows what's good for him," he said firmly, catching her mouth when he realised she looked troubled. The kiss was reassuring and and desperate but he felt enough acceptance there to know that she understood his need to deal with Montague.

To deny him that was to deny nature and instinct.

"Okay," she whispered reluctantly, keeping her lips almost grazing his. "Do what you have to do. But you find out what you can too, Draco. Remember, this isn't over yet. He could be our best chance to finish all this."

"Alright," he breathed, pecking her mouth again. "Let's just leave it now. I don't want you thinking about it."

"I think we should get up," she stated, rising into sitting position and hissing when her back clicked. "I've been in this bed too long."

"Your little band of well-wishers will be here soon," he reminded her, offering a steady hand when she wobbled on her feet. "I'm sure Potter and his little ginger boy-bitch will be first in line."

She rolled her eyes but her lip twitched. "You really need to stop insulting Ron," she scolded half-heartedly, heading to the basin to wash her face. "But at least you didn't insult Harry this time."

"He was tolerable yesterday," he shrugged, ignoring the sceptical arch of her eyebrow. "He saved me the hassle of physically removing your sodding ex. And when the hell did the Weasley girl get so fat?"

"She's pregnant," she scolded, returning to stand by the bed. "I've told you that a million times-

"I choose to ignore it," he told her indifferently. "A Potter-Weasley sprog is just unnatural."

"That _sprog _is going to be my Godchild," she grinned at him, but then a serious looks stole her delicate features. "Thank you," she sighed, giving his face a grateful stroke with her fingertips. "This feels normal."

"Things will be normal soon," he said with a confidence she admired as he left the bed to dress. "I'm going to go home and get some of your things. Anything in particular you want?"

"My wand," she replied without hesitation. "I miss it. I think it's in the kitchen. I'm not bothered about anything else."

"Alright," he nodded, fastening up his robes and giving her a quick kiss. "I'll send one of the Mediwitches up to help you shower. I'll be back in a bit."

.

* * *

.

The second Draco stepped out of his fireplace, the atmosphere rushed into him and something twisted in his gut. It was imposing and unsettling, like he was walking into a room where everyone wished him dead. There was a foreign musky and masculine scent tainting the air, mingled with the smell of coagulated blood and he swallowed down the surge of vomit.

His eyes scanned his living room, falling to the off-angle table and then to the small dent in his wall. But it was the rusty specks across his light floorboards, like freckles on a pale child, that made his rage spike. He just made it to the kitchen sink to empty his stomach, but only bile scorched his throat and spat against the porcelain. He eyed the puss-like fluid and realised he hadn't eaten since yesterday and he'd forgotten to be hungry.

His eyes shifted to spot Hermione's wand on the counter and it calmed his churning insides a little. Rubbing his face with one palm, he plucked the object and slipped it into his pocket before heading upstairs to gather some of her belongings.

They would have to leave here. He couldn't stay here knowing what had happened, and he refused to let her stay either.

.

* * *

.

About an hour later after a quick shower and still no food, he returned to St Mungo's, and he could hear the multiple voices before he even reached Hermione's room. With an agitated growl, he pushed open the door and scowled when there were more people than he'd expected or liked. Nine to be exact, excluding his witch.

Pratty Potter and his conjoined orange growth were practically on top of her on the bed, and it took a lot of effort not send a hex their way. The fat redhead girl was sat close by and he had long decided that she was a moron for happily belonging to both the Weasley and Potter families. Fucking Weirdo...

And speaking of weirdos...Loony was sat next to the Weasley sister, looking a little less dazed than usual but still a Sickle short of a Galleon. Then there was Longbottom, who to be fair looked appropriately sombre. Shacklebolt was next, standing his usual twenty-feet tall and appearing more apologetic than anything else.

On the other side of her bed, his mother and Amelia both looked somewhere between bursting into tears and throttling someone. Had it not been for Caleb leaning stoically against the wall with his arms crossed, he might have just left the room with a snarl of irritation and a case of claustrophobia.

"Draco," his mother noticed him first, and subsequently everyone turned to look at him. "Where have you been?"

"Just getting some things," he said, giving Potter and Weasley a dismissive wave when he noticed their questioning stares. "Carry on with your fawning."

"Actually, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley spoke up, his tired and deep. "I've just asked the others to leave. I need to ask to Hermione some questions, so I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."

"What?" Draco shot the man a heated glance, ignoring the disapproving look from him mother. "How long will it take?"

"Not long," the dark man told him vaguely as the others all started to rise, offering Hermione supportive hugs and words. "Perhaps you should have something to eat."

But the blond didn't hear the final part; he was too busy giving Weasley a fiery glare when he hugged his girlfriend a little longer than necessary. Draco knew it was only because he hadn't been allowed a decent outlet for his anger yet, but he had all the fury of a Spanish Bull.

And Weasley's hair colour just happened to be red.

Bottling up another batch of unhealthy rage, he waited for all but Shacklebolt to shuffle out of the room. Nearing his witch and placing her bag of belongings next to the bed, he fired the Minister for Magic a suspicious look before turning to Hermione.

"Were all those people necessary?" he questioned, removing her wand from his pocket.

"Thank you," she eagerly grabbed the object from his fingers, ignoring his previous comment. "I'm going to check myself out of here after I speak with Kingsley. I'm sick of this bed."

"You're sure?" he asked with a hint of uncertainty. "Perhaps you should stay a bit longer."

"I hate hospitals," she shook her head, running her fingers over her wand delicately. "This place is just making me even more miserable."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "But we're not going back to my house. We're going to stay at the Manor for a bit."

"Your mum's okay with that?"

"I haven't asked her yet," he admitted with a shrug. "But she'll be fine with it. We can have the West wing while I find another place-

"Another place?" she interrupted, sighing when she grasped his intention. "You don't need to buy another home because of what happened-

"Yes, I do," he countered resolutely, pushing some temperamental curls out of her forehead. "We own some property around London so it won't be for long-

"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley cut in, unaffected by Draco's annoyed glare. "I really need to talk to Hermione in private-

"Fine," he snapped with evident bite, but his voice relaxed when he turned back to his witch. "I'll see you in a bit."

Hermione smiled at him before he headed out the room , and her eyes lingered on the door, forgetting the other wizard's presence. "Sorry," she muttered when she realised she'd lost her concentration.

"You know why I'm here, Hermione," he started, slowly taking a seat by her bed. "I need to question you about what happened." He gave her a comforting look. "Just tell me what you can."

So she did. She explained everything, steeling her tone to sound as indifferent and professional as she could. She wavered once or twice towards the end but was proud with herself when she'd finished, and judging from the almost paternal look on her friend's face, he felt proud too.

"And then Caleb brought me here," she ended with a long breath. "I'd like to recommend him for Auror training. Amelia said that he had mentioned it once."

"I see," he nodded with a thoughtful expression. "Do you know if he has the required grades from Hogwarts?"

"I don't care if he doesn't," she told him sternly. "Neville didn't have the right grades and he's one of the best Aurors, and you know it."

"I'll see what I can do," he compromised, resting his elbows on his knees. "Just a few more questions, Hermione. In light of what's happened, do you want to continue with the case?"

"Of course," she answered quickly. "Surely you can see that I would be more-

"Eager to end this?" he finished for her with a knowing look. "I figured as much. Would you like some time off work?"

"Just a few days will be fine," she said after a moment's thought, jumping in when he gave her a concerned look. "But if I think it's too soon I will ask for some more days at home."

"Alright," he yielded reluctantly. "And you're absolutely certain that Montague isn't a solo killer?"

"I'm positive," she asserted. "I told you what he said to me. Draco and I knew it was a possibility a few weeks ago but there wasn't much to go on. There must be someone in control and Montague was just stupid enough to join the group."

"So you have no idea how many this group could actually have?"

"No," she frowned. "Hopefully it's just Montague but we don't know."

"Okay," he breathed, rising from his seat and offering her a quick smile. "I think that's enough questions for now. You should get some rest."

"I have a question for you actually," the witch stopped him before he could leave. "Why would you arrange for Draco and Harry to interview Montague? I know they weren't the only option, Kingsley."

"They weren't," he agreed, an almost mischievous look in his eyes. "But they seemed the most sensible-

"Sensible?" she repeated with a surprised tone. "You're putting my best friend and my boyfriend alone in a room with a man who attacked me. That is far from sensible."

"It depends which way you look at it," he told her, sounding more intelligent than he should have. "They will be far more...vigilant-

"Not if they lose their tempers," she reasoned with a pointed look. "And in case you hadn't noticed, Draco has quite a temper-

"I had noticed," he said, but he sounded more amused than troubled. "Just trust my judgement, Hermione. If anyone will get answers it will be those two-

"So you did it intentionally?" she surmised, giving him a doubtful glimpse. "You're underestimating Draco's anger about this, Kingsley."

He paused and considered her for a second. "Maybe I am," he offered. "But perhaps the anger will help."

.

* * *

.

"Of course you can move in," Narcissa huffed, offended that he'd even asked. "It's your home too. I'll send the House-elves to get your things later."

"It will only be for a few weeks," he explained as they waiting on the seats outside his lover's room. "The Manor seems like the safest place at the moment."

"Stay as long as you want," she said softly, giving her son's arm a gentle pat. "How are you coping with all this, Draco?"

"How do you think?" he shot back bitterly. "I'd kill him if I could-

"Draco-

"She made me promise not to do anything stupid," he assured her with an annoyed tone. "I shouldn't have agreed to that."

The older of the two Malfoys watched her son, studying his stressed lines and the seemingly-permanent vein protruding from his throat. He had always prided himself on his appearance but today he looked haggard and worn; his hair dishevelled and his jaw shadowed with early stubble. It was disconcerting but at the same time refreshing; she'd never seen him look so human.

"You need to calm yourself before the interview-

"Don't you worry about that," he cut in, staring at his fisted hands. "I shall handle it how I see fit-

"But you said you promised Hermione-

"I promised her nothing illegal," he muttered, secretly desiring a sturdy glass of Ogden's. "The rest is up to me."

"And she's okay with that?" Narcissa questioned, evidently unconvinced.

"Of course not," he rolled his eyes. "You know how _noble_ she sodding is. It's that bloody Gryffindor brainwashing she had at Hogwarts-

"Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt interrupted, quietly slipping out of Hermione's room. "I'm finished for now-

"About time-

"But I will need to talk to her again in the next few days," he finished, stepping aside so Draco could make his way into the room. "And I'll expect you at the Ministry at five. Harry will be waiting in the Auror Offices for you-

"Can't wait," he mumbled sarcastically, but there was a slightly sinister edge to his voice. If Kingsley noticed, he didn't mention it and left with a polite nod at Narcissa, who had decided to stay outside while her son marched into the room.

"Hey," Hermione sighed, her fawny eyes watching his agitated movements as he neared the bed. "What's the matter?"

"Just wondering if any more of your bloody friends plan on pissing me off-

"You're not angry at them," she stopped him, giving his hand a quick caress. "You're just angry at the situation and you're taking it out on them-

"If I was taking it out on them, you'd have noticed," he said coldly. "You're lucky Weasley's not in the next ward."

She paused to observe him, his eyes downcast as he grazed his fingertips across the lines of her palm. She could see how burdened he was, like every particle was vibrating with dormant need to erupt.

So tense; just waiting to shatter.

In a moment of ill-timed romanticism, she considered the notion that he looked like a fallen angel with his ivory features and harsh scowl, but decided against it. No, he was the opposite to that. A redeemed demon who had rejected evil but was still basking in his dark demeanour. Wonderfully sadistic; but ultimately good.

With a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, she reached up to stroke his cheek with the backs of her fingers. Some of the strain in his face melted into her touch, but it wasn't enough. Maybe it would never be enough.

He look scarred, almost as much as her.

She pulled him in for a kiss that lingered, just to see suck away some more of the tension. She could taste his frustration; his fire, and she swallowed as much as she could.

"I think I'm ready to go home now," she murmured as she pulled away.

.

* * *

.

Draco cocked an eyebrow when he found a very nervous-looking Potter waiting outside the room he'd been directed to. The Invincible Twit looked like he had raked his fingers through his hair a thousand times and there were blue crescents supporting his eyes.

For the briefest of moments, Draco realised he actually had something in common with his old rival.

Hermione.

The attack had clearly affected them both and it was beguiling revelation. He shoved it away though, rationalising that this was Potter, and friend of Hermione's or not, he was an annoying bugger at the best of times.

But nothing would show on his face. Not one emotion.

After settling Hermione into a steaming bath and leaving his mother to fuss over her, he had isolated himself in one of the Manor's forgotten rooms. For one beautifully morbid hour, her had simply sat in a cobweb-coated armchair and tried to sort through his thoughts. When the sparks of his temper had been too volatile, he had instead simply trained his expression to be as stoic and impassive as physically possible.

And that expression had remained carved into his stony face since.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted awkwardly, failing to hide his anxiety and discomfort. "You're early."

"You're earlier," he shrugged. "Let's just get this over with, Potter-

"Just a second," the other wizard frowned, shielding the door. "I need to go over some things with you first-

"Get on with it then," he snapped, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at him. "You know, I've interviewed some ex-Death Eaters before, Potter-

"I know that," Harry raised his hand in a futile attempt to calm the pale man. "But I can understand how this could be more difficult because of your personal involvement-

"You have a _personal involvement _too," he countered with a pointed finger. "But I wouldn't waste my breath giving you advice-

"I just need some guarantee that you will be professional," Harry grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "You can't-

"I will do what I want," the blond replied stiffly. "You are not my boss, Potter."

The green-eyes Auror hesitated. "No, I'm not," he agreed begrudgingly, exhaling when he realised this was a battle he couldn't win. "Fine then; let's go."

Draco shoved his way into the small, dark room after Potter and his eyes instantly fell to the nonchalant figure magically bound to a dark wooden chair. It was the complete lack of remorse on the man's face that caused his pulse to thunder loudly in his ears. Montague looked completely placid and unperturbed and simply eyed Draco like he would a speck of dust.

Malfoy felt his nostrils flare and his jaw clench, but he managed to keep himself calm on the outside as he took a seat next to Potter. Draco could literally feel the blood in his body bubble like lava, but he didn't let it show. If he was going to get what he wanted, he needed to remain detached and aloof.

"Well," Montague's thick voice echoed in the cold room. "Aren't you two an interesting team."

Draco glanced at Potter and could see that he was having a little more trouble veiling his emotions. Montague's bored face slowly transformed into an amused grin that could have sliced the tight strings of his control.

"You know why you're here, Montague," Harry started, his voice surprisingly firm.

"I do," Graham nodded. "But we all know that I'm not going to tell you anything."

And true to his word; he didn't. Draco silently scrutinized the prisoner as Potter fired question after question at him, all of which were answered by nothing more than a cocky grin.

_What do you have to do with the Vendetta Movement?_

_How many people are in the group?_

_What do you want from all this?_

_Did you kill Creevey?_

_Pansy?_

_Nott?_

_Goyle ?_

_Finch-Fletchley? _

_Pucey?_

_Clearwater?_

Harry's questions grew muffled as the minutes reached thirty, and Draco didn't utter a single word throughout. He just watched the enemy's face as it flickered between boredom and amusement. He knew he couldn't speak; his voice would betray him and reveal his rage. He was biding his time.

_How did you get into Malfoy's house?_

Draco had blocked out Potter's interrogation to study Montague, but the mention of his name snapped him out of his intense trance. Graham must have noticed the shift because he released his small chuckle.

"You're very quiet there, Malfoy," he spoke finally. "Was it something I did?"

The blond exhaled a through his nose and turned to Harry. "Can't we just give him some Veritaserum?" he asked, his voice monotone and too controlled.

"I need to get Kingsley's permission," he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "But yes, I think that's the only way we're going to get anywhere. We can do it on Tuesday-

"Another visit?" Montague said with mock excitement. "That will be fun."

"If you are refusing to cooperate then we will try again," the Auror confirmed in his professional voice. "With Veritaserum."

"You can try," the bound man teased with a crooked smirk. "But I am under the Vow, and I won't have to answer some of your questions-

"Then I'll make sure we ask the right questions," Potter promised, giving Graham a long look before he started to rise from his seat. He turned to Draco and gestured that it was time to leave. "We will reschedule this for Tuesday-

"Leaving so soon?" Montague faked a whine. "Such a shame. I was hoping we could discuss Hermione more intimately."

Both of the other men faltered and Draco felt every part of his body seize up.

_Don't let him goad you. Just a bit longer. _

Harry must have seen him struggling to keep his head. "Come on, Malfoy," he encouraged, heading to the door and listening to make sure Draco was following. The dark-haired wizard heard the echoes of Malfoy's footsteps behind him and silently found himself impressed with his old nemesis' composure throughout the interview. He hadn't said a single word and he had honestly expected screamed death threats from the pale man.

"I didn't think you'd manage to hold it together, Malfoy," he said as he slipped out of the doorframe, oblivious that Draco's footsteps had stopped. "On Tuesday we can-

But he was cut off by the loud slam of the door.

Harry knew what had happened and he cringed, hearing the remains of a complex locking spell muttered on the other side of the door.

"Malfoy!" he shouted, banging his fist against the door. "Don't, Malfoy!"

He heard nothing but the scrape of a chair and he reached in his robes for his wand but hesitated as he hovered it over the door's lock. Expelling a breath of weary understanding, he slipped his wand back in his pocket and leaned against the wall; waiting and privately hoping Montague suffered.

.

* * *

.

"That's better," Draco mumbled, shrugging off his robes and loosening his tie. "We can get started now."

"You look tense, Malfoy," the prisoner taunted, his restraints hissing when he tried to shift. "And how is Herm-

"_Silencio!" _he shouted before Montague could finish. "You don't get to talk during this."

Draco slowly walked towards the other wizard, bunching his sleeves up around his elbows as he went. His hand flexed around his wand and he waved it over Montague's restraints, slackening them before manoeuvring him against the wall with a flick of his wrist.

And then, with the poise and grace of a hunting Snow Leopard, Draco stepped in front of Montague and fired a fist into his face. He hesitated to catch the indifferent haze to the other man's eyes before he threw another. And then another and another.

They started slow at first but Malfoy's pace quickly turned into a frenzied shower of loud and crisp blows. The noises bounced around the chamber, waltzing with Draco's grunts and groans while any noises that Montague would have made were smothered by magic.

Draco kept checking the man's stare, waiting for the defiant shield to fall. He needed to see fear on the other man's face. He needed to know he had left a mark. A scar.

He continued to smash his face, watching in a twisted trance as the other man's features became distorted and mangled. It was his work, and like an artist would of a prized painting, he considered the purple and grey mess a masterpiece. He'd forgotten how powerful it felt to physically coax blood and bruises from a man.

He felt something give beneath his knuckles and realised it must have been Montague's cheekbone when the side of his face caved slightly. He checked the prisoner's eyes again, proud of the burgundy stains and bumps that surrounded them. He saw some pain there but still no fear; no remorse. It wasn't good enough.

So he carried on.

Draco launched his punches into his abdomen, uncaring when the hits caused Montague to spit out some shuddering breaths that were clotted with blood. He felt the warm liquid spatter against his shirt and his arms but he barely noticed. He felt his fists start to swell and burn so he withdrew his wand again and shifted Graham to the floor.

He barraged his foot into the fallen wizard's stomach; again and again, roaring with feral rage until he felt something else crack. He watched with cool eyes as a rib pushed against Montague's flesh, stabbing him from the inside. Draco saw his mouth part in a silent scream and felt the satisfaction wash over him like sun rays.

There was some fear there now, but not enough.

He pulled out his wand again and directed it at the man with a steady arm. He stole a second just to look at the broken and fractured wizard and marvelled at his work. He felt better. A lot better, like an addict who had _finally _found his fix. He just needed Montague's fear to sate him. He wanted horror.

"_Sectumsempra!_" he screamed, his tone raspy and deep. The thick and jagged gashes slashed across his skin, accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh. The blood slowly wept out of him and Draco lifted the silencing spell to savour Montague's anguished cries. They sounded like music; like a score to accompany battles.

Montague looked petrified now and Draco, although still not completely doused, felt sane again. With a final kick to his head, he turned to leave the room which was rumbling with the screams of an almost dying man.

"You're fucking lucky," he spat over his shoulder. "You'd be dead if it wasn't for her."

He got no response expect a throaty gargle so he left the room without a backwards glance. Potter was waiting outside, leaning against the wall and appearing slightly disturbed. He locked onto Draco's storm-grey glare and gave him an uncharacteristic nod of acceptance.

"You can clean up the mess," the blond stated simply, before strolling down the corridor like a man who felt normal again.

.

* * *

.

Draco scrubbed away the remaining stains on his arms and slowly unbuttoned the red-speckled shirt. Tossing it to the side, he checked his chest to ensure that Montague's blood hadn't seeped through the fabric to blemish his skin. Checking that his hasty spells had started to heal his wounded knuckles, he decided he was ready to see her now.

He had bumped into his mother when he'd returned to the Manor and she had scolded him within an inch of her life, but hew knew she understood on some level, even if she didn't want to. It was only around seven o'clock in the evening but she'd told him that Hermione had felt drained after her bath and gone straight to bed, and then proceeded to warn him to clean up before he joined her.

Satisfied that no evidence of his actions was marring his ivory skin, he found his lover softly slumbering amongst the expensive emerald sheets.

Too innocent for him. Too pure.

She stirred at the sounds of his footsteps and offered him a sleepy smile that hitched his breath. She really had no idea how stunning she looked right now; divine and his. He settled on the bed next to her and brushed away her bed-bemused hair with slightly swollen hands, but she didn't notice.

"You look tired," she murmured through her sleep-heavy lips. "Did it go okay?"

"It went well," he nodded, his voice relaxed and husky. "Go back to sleep, Granger. Everything is fine now."

"What happened with-

"I'll explain everything tomorrow," he promised. "Just rest now."

.

* * *

.

a/n: I am so so so so sorry this took longer than normal...Further health issues and blah blah blah. I have shouted at my father several times for his sodding bad genes! I hope this was okay...if a little dark...but hey! That's Draco...at least how I perceive him.

There's maybe two or three chapter left and then an epilogue which has already been written so not long to go...Oh, and by the way...

THANK YOU SOOO MUCH! 600+ reviews! I just don't know what to say...It's wonderful...Just amazing and I have sent a bunch of Halos your way so you should be getting them any day now! If you review this chapter they'll start to glow! ^_^

Hope it was okay anyway...Let me know...Read and Review!

**Next chapter: ahhhh...well...It's an important one...Let's meet and greet the **_**real **_**baddie shall we? I think you've waited long enough...**


	32. Truth

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 32: Truth.

.

Draco had slept like a cured insomniac.

Hermione had initiated sex before they'd gone to sleep, and while he had never been a particular fan of a slow and affectionate pace, he'd never felt more sated in his life. He had a feeling that it was partially to do with the interview yesterday and that he had finally been able to vent some of his aggression, but having a tasty dose of his girlfriend had pushed normality a little closer to their world.

He knew that her desire for intimacy hadn't been forged from lust or longing; she had simply needed to see if she could touch him without the flashbacks stealing her passion. And as far as he could tell, she'd been absolutely fine. Charming, actually. Ever the perfectionist.

And it had been bloody good.

She had instantly been swallowed by sleep with him following close afterwards, so when he opened his groggy eyes to find her sitting up on the bed and jotting down some notes, he was a little confused. He blinked a couple of times and cocked an eyebrow at her tousled hair and concentrated look; guessing from the low light in the room that it was still rather early.

"Granger," he mumbled, catching her eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm writing down some questions for you to ask Montague," she told him, stifling a yawn. "Just a couple-

"Don't do that now," he said, snatching away the parchments and giving her a disapproving frown. "It's too early for that. You know, most people enjoy a lie-in when they haven't got work."

"The Wizengamot will only give us so many interviews before he goes to trial," she explained, waltzing her fingers over his bare chest. "Especially if you're getting a chance with Veritaserum. I want to make sure we get all we can out of it-

"I can handle it," he protested, giving her waist a firm tug and pushing his face close to hers. "You should trust me, Granger-

"I do-

"Then leave me to deal with it," he insisted, giving her mouth an almost-peck. "I know what I'm doing. Just enjoy your day of peace."

"Peace," she repeated with a troubled whisper. "I'm not sure peace is the right word, Draco."

He felt his stomach sink into the mattress. He hated that she still wasn't herself but knew it was inevitable. His lioness was injured; it would just take some time and care before she could rejoin the hunt.

"Call it whatever you like," he shrugged, reaching for his wand on his bedside table. "If you have to write down your own questions then do it later. Do you want some breakfast in bed? I can give the House-elves a-

"What happened to your hand?" she questioned suddenly, grabbing his wrist and pointing to the remains of his bruises and scratches. "Draco, what are these?"

"Nothing," he lied, trying to take back his hand and reminding himself to work on his healing spells. "Calm down-

"Are you ever going to tell me exactly what happened with Montague?" she muttered nervously, and he gave her an intense look.

He paused and let her thumb the grazes again. "Do you honestly want to know?" he asked, gnashing his teeth inside his mouth. "Really?"

After a reluctant nibble at her lip, she offered him a sad grin that he hadn't been expecting. "I guess not," she confessed, stealing his hand to lay a delicate kiss across his damaged skin. "But whatever you did, thank you. And thank you for what you said when I was in hospital. I know things like that aren't really easy for you."

He stayed silent for a few moments to absorb her words and knew that he had actually been too light on Montague. Way too light. He should have tortured the sick fuck until he had begged for forgiveness; she was worth that. She was worth his death.

They hadn't discussed his uncharacteristic confession at St Mungo's and that had suited him fine. He'd wondered a couple of times he'd been to rash with his words; too affected by her state after the attack, but no. Not a chance. He might not understand the complex ins and outs of the emotion, but he knew the only title for it was love. He knew what it was because he'd never felt it before.

"I do, you know," he said quietly, and she glanced up at him under her eyelashes.

"I know," she blushed, leaning in to give him a smiling kiss. "I love you too."

"Then don't do any work," he reiterated, giving her mouth another quick nip before he left the bed. "I'm going to tell the House-elves to bring us up some breakfast. Full English sound good?"

"If you _ask _and don't _tell_," she stressed, drawing her eyebrows together. "Then that sounds lovely."

.

* * *

.

"She looks so much better," Narcissa commented once Hermione had left the room, ignoring the disapproving look from her son.

"Then stop bloody mollycoddling her." he said sharply. "She's not a child-

"I just want to make sure she's comfortable," she argued, nursing her cup of tea. "But I guess seeing as you two didn't leave bed until midday." She paused and her lip twitched. "So...she's had no trouble with-

"Finish that sentence and I'll have you committed," he promised with a straight voice. "All you need to know is that she's fine. Talk about something else before I curse you."

She paused. "The Floo has been been going all day," his mother decided it really was best to change the subject. "I'm assuming neither of you want to talk to any journalists?"

"Absolutely not," he grumbled, giving her a scolding stare. "And no exclusives for Skeeter, mother-

"I know that," she frowned. "So, you have another interview with Montague tomorrow-

"What of it?"

"Well I'd like to know if you plan on coming home covered in blood again," she said, her tone wary and annoyed. "Or if you can manage to control yourself this time?"

"I did what I had to do," he told her crisply. "I need to get the questions answered tomorrow, so I'll do that-

"And what exactly did you do to Montague, Draco?" she questioned bluntly.

"What was necessary," he replied, flicking one of his nails. "The details aren't important-

"Well, I don't approve," the witch said stiffly, but then her features relaxed. "But I suppose I understand. She is very special to you, isn't she?"

"That's stating the obvious-

"And have you told her you love her?" his mother questioned quickly, ignoring the agitated look he shot her. "Or do I have to convince you to-

"No convincing required," he hushed her, pausing for a moment. "She knows."

Narcissa's mouth transformed into a striking grin that reminded him where he got the majority of his charm from. "Good," she offered finally. "What time's the interview tomorrow?"

"Seven," he answered with a thoughtful look, pleased she knew well enough to drop the subject of his feelings for his lover. "Potter said it was a good idea to leave it until most of the staff had left."

"And how long will it take?"

"Well, Granger's already written down six pages of questions and I have a fair few of my own," Draco explained, releasing a frustrated breath. "Will you stay here tomorrow, while I'm at the Ministry?"

"Of course," she assured him. "I've already sent Amelia a letter too asking her to join us. I can tell you don't want her to be alone."

"Is Caleb coming?"

"No, he's doing some work at the Ministry too," she told him, tilting her head when his brow creased with uncertainty. "Draco, don't give me that look. We're going to have a girl night and everything will be lovely. I'll keep her distracted-

"I'm not concerned with your little girly plans," he groaned, relaxing back in the chair. "I just want to know that she'll be safe. And you for that matter-

"Come now, Draco," she sighed, topping up her tea. "You know this place is safe-

"I_ knew _my house was safe," he countered quickly. "And I was wrong-

"That's different," she argued, her voice that maternal tone he knew so well. "The Manor has centuries of protective spells in the walls. It's probably more secure than Hogwarts, Draco. Nobody who isn't welcome can get in."

Draco nodded absently, knowing her words were true. "Alright," he yielded reluctantly. "But if anything odd happens you come get me immediately or send me an owl. Hell, use one of the Portkeys if you have to-

"I get it," she rolled her eyes. "You should relax a little, Draco. She's safe here, and this will all be finished with soon. Go and join her for a swim, it might calm you down."

He considered it for a moment before nodding to himself and leaving behind his grinning mother to stroll to the pool. The Malfoy heir silently entered the pool area and made his steps as light as possible, eyeing the dazzling reflections dancing over the green tiles. His ashy eyes fell to the disturbed water and his swimming lover, and he recalled one her books describing a Naiad.

She had read that passage to him a couple of times and he found the similarities striking as he watched her waltz in the water with welcome abandon.

He quietly slipped off his shoes and rolled up his trouser legs, keeping his eyes on her and checking that she was still oblivious to his presence. He settled himself at the edge of the pool and dangled his legs in the water, giving her a wide smirk when she finally noticed him.

"You know," he started slowly as she made her way towards him. "Last time we were here, you jumped me."

"I remember," she smiled, settling her arms against his thighs. "Although I think 'jumped' is a bit far. You were hardly pushing me away-

"Of course I didn't," he interrupted, his lips stretching a little wider. "You'd been teasing me for weeks, you bitch."

"Hey," she frowned, but she knew that playful tone of his well. "I am not a tease. But I will admit that I made things more difficult than they should have been. You didn't exactly help though."

"Perhaps not," he agreed with an arched eyebrow. "But does it really matter now?"

She beamed at him like he'd said something wonderful. "No," she breathed. "Not at all. I just wish things could be a little easier sometimes. This case has hardly been good for our relationship-

"It will be over soon," he told her, brushing back her damp curls and realising he had said that countless times now. "And when it is, we are spending an unspecified amount of time in my Greek villa."

"Sounds perfect," she grinned, sliding her hands down his legs and tickling his ankles. "You coming in for a swim?"

"Can we actually have sex this time?"

"Is the door locked?" she asked, waiting for his nod before she gave his legs a firm tug and dragged him into the water with a huff of effort. She giggled when he thrashed in the pool and resurfaced to give her an unimpressed stare. In a lover's heartbeat, she was blissfully pressed up against the pool's edge and studying the mischievous glint to his silvery-steel eyes.

"Cheeky witch," he mumbled, flicking his tongue across her shoulder. "You'll pay for that."

"Let's hope so."

.

* * *

.

"Come here," Hermione beckoned, lacing his tie through his collar. "You're going early."

"Well, mother seems pretty keen to start your _girl night_," he frowned, nipping at her nose as she tied the knot. "I don't even want to know what it entails."

"Then I won't tell you," she smiled. "All I'll say is there'll be lots of chocolate and I'm going to introduce your mother to the wonders of rom-coms."

"Sounds awful," he mumbled, breathing out when she gave his throat an affectionate brush with her fingertips. "Will it be over by the time I come home?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted, running her hand across his chest. "_Notting Hill _is quite long I guess. Caleb should be here to pick up Amelia by then so you two can moan over a glass of Firewhiskey while we discuss Muggle things."

"My ancestors would be shitting hexes if they knew someone was bringing Muggle items into the Manor," he said with a light shrug. "Especially the strange shit you own."

"They'd be shitting more than hexes if they knew you were in a relationship with a Muggle-born-

"Well it's good they're dead then," he remarked, flinching when she gasped. "Oh hush, Granger. It's not like you or I ever knew them-

"But still," she moaned, giving him a stern look. "They're your past-

"And sometimes the past is best left buried, especially if it can fuck up your future," he stated, grimacing when he saw her flattered expression. _Future_. "If you repeat that to anyone I'll turn that cat of yours permanently green and make it wear a Slytherin collar."

"Yes, sir," she mocked, pulling him in to suck at his mouth. "Do you have the list of questions I gave you?"

"Yes, it's all here," he assured, patting the pocket that contained the shrunken parchments. "I'll do what I can."

"Okay," she nodded, releasing him so he could leave the room. "Good luck."

He offered her a parting nod and made his way down the West Wing's lengthy corridors, turning in to one of the sitting rooms with a Floo. The Ministry was notably quieter to what he was used to, and save several people he passed who were obviously on their way home, the corridors were more or less deserted. Heading straight to the Auror Offices, Potter was in a similar position to how he'd found him last time; sat on a conjured chair and nervously tapping his knee.

"Potter," the blond called, cocking an eyebrow when the other wizard jumped. "Looking a little on edge there."

"Late night," he responded vaguely, rising from the seat. "Should I expect more...disputes between you and Montague today or-

"I might lose my temper," Draco confessed without hesitation. "But I don't intend on beating the puss out of him again. Granger's given me a stack of questions to ask the twat and I would actually like to see my bed tonight."

"Good," the other man nodded, looking a little relieved. "Right, just a couple of things before we go in-

"Great-

"Montague's Vow is more powerful than the Veritaserum," Harry explained, ignoring Malfoy's sarcasm. "So he won't answer everything you ask and he will probably try and goad you so just try and remain in control-

"Potter," Draco cut in brusquely, narrowing his eyes. "The last thing I bloody want is a pep-talk from you. Let's just get this done with."

He turned and barged into the room before the irritating man could protest. He actually smirked when his eyes settled on Montague, and his pride was overwhelming. The wizard looked like he'd been trampled by a swarm of thestrals; his face swollen and a wonderful mosaic of blues, purples and yellows. There were scars and scratches slicing at his bitter features, and while the prison robes didn't allow him to see much more flesh, he could tell by his awkward posture that his body was in a similar state.

Good.

He hoped it hurt the bastard to breath.

"Hello again," Draco practically chirped as he took his seat. "You look...colourful."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," he spat, his voice hoarse like his trachea had been torn. "It's all well and good to be a cocky prick when I'm tied to this chair-

"Are you implying that you could have beaten me in a fair duel?" the blond taunted, allowing himself a deep chuckle. "I don't fucking think so-

"Well, Granger didn't do very well against me-

"She was unarmed," Harry interrupted, taking a seat next to Draco before he could retaliate. "Montague, it would work in your favour not to wind us up-

"Wouldn't make a difference," he argued with a blasé shake of his head, although he looked in a bit of pain as he did it. "My fate is sealed with a life sentence in Azkaban-

"Believe me when I say I can make it worse," Draco promised darkly, turning to give the Gryffindor an impatient glare. "Just give him the bloody potion, Potter. His face is pissing me off."

Harry gave him a grim nod and removed a vial from his robes, leaving his seat and heading towards the prisoner. He waved his wand and Montague's mouth was pried open with an unhealthy crack of his jaw.

"I hope you choke," Draco stated coolly as the potion was poured down Graham's throat. The moment it had all gone, Harry muttered another incantation and the dark wizard's mouth slammed closed with a loud smack of connecting teeth. The Auror held the spell until a resounding gulp vibrated in the small chamber and the spell was released, leaving Montague to gasp a few loud pants.

"Right," Harry mumbled, returning to his seat and tucking his wand back into his robes. "Just a couple of test questions. Full name?"

"Graham Charles Montague," he growled, evidently trying to fight the effects of the Veritaserum.

"Your age?"

"Twenty-six."

Harry made a small noise in his throat. "And do you know why you've been arrested?"

"Because I was caught trying to rape Hermione Granger," he answered calmly, and Draco dug his nails into his own thighs. "And you want to know my involvement with the recent murders."

"That's correct," Potter nodded with an awkward shift in his seat, and Draco had caught him cringe when Hermione's name had been mentioned alongside the word _rape_. "Now, we understand that your Vow-

"Just a second," Graham cut in, his humoured eyes shifting over to Draco. "Let me just try one more truth test-

"Get on with it," the blond snarled. "You've wasted enough of my time."

A fractured and eerie smile snagged the other Slytherin's lips. "Hermione Granger," he started crisply, his tongue darting out to dampen his lips. "Was the best thing I've ever tasted."

Harry practically dived across Malfoy, swinging his body around so he could grip his arms. There was a brief moment of stillness and quiet before he felt Draco struggle, thrashing around like a shackled beast, roaring and growling over Montague's thick and raspy laughter.

"Malfoy," Harry bit out, latching his arms a little tighter around Draco's chest. "Calm down, Malfoy. He's just trying to wind you up-

"Let me go, Potter!"

"No," he argued, relieved when he felt his old rival's endeavours lessen slightly. "You need to keep your head. _Hermione_ needs you to keep your head. You knew he would do this, Malfoy."

Draco's body stiffened a little and he released a breath that rumbled. "Alright, Potter," he snapped. "Release me."

Harry begrudgingly did as he was told, giving him a sceptical look when he sat back in his seat like nothing had fazed him. His eyes stayed trained on the stormy-eyed man for a few moments, weighing up the possibility that Draco was bluffing his sudden nonchalance. With a wary frown, he retook his own seat and turned back to Montague.

"Do something like that again," Harry started in a low tone he hadn't used in a while. "And I'll turn a blind eye to anything else he does. Just answer the questions-

"Are you a member of the _Vendetta Movement_?" Draco interrupted sharply, his voice suddenly brisk and professional as he removed some parchments from his pocket.

"Yes," Graham answered through his teeth, slightly caught off guard by the suddenness of the blond's question.

"And who is the leader?"

"The Vow won't let me answer that," he answered, his tone robotic. "Unlucky, Malfoy."

"Fine," Draco grumbled, glancing over to Potter who was frantically scribbling down notes now. "Potter, are you alright for me to continue with Hermione's questions or do you-

"Yes, carry on," the Auror nodded, his expression oddly supportive.

"And how many members are in your little group?" Malfoy carried on.

Montague gritted his teeth. "Two."

"Two," Draco repeated, his voice turning relieved for a second. "Good. And when you sent the letters-

"I didn't send the letters," he corrected.

Malfoy's eyebrows drew together in a doubtful scowl. "None of them?"

"Not one."

"But you attacked Granger," he reminded the bound man. "And the letters to her were-

"I'm not the only one who wants to fuck your pretty little girlfriend, Malfoy," he said darkly, his tone verging on jealous. "But I didn't want to kill her."

"Then let's discuss killing, if you'd rather," Harry interrupted, pausing his scribbles for a moment. "I'd like to get your confessions over with. Did you murder Gregory Goyle?"

His face scrunched in pain as he tried to battle the Vow. "Yes."

"Theodore Nott?"

"Yes."

"Marcus Flint?"

"Yes."

"Dennis Creevey?"

"No."

.

* * *

.

Narcissa eyed the two Muggle-borns with evident fondness as she licker her spoon. "Nice?"

"It's delicious," Amelia mumbled over her mouthful Eton Mess. "I don't know what you've done to the strawberries but they taste different."

"Amazing," Hermione agreed, spooning another helping of the dessert. "Remind to thank the House-elves later, and maybe steal the recipe."

"So what exactly is a film?" the oldest witch asked, relaxing into the couch. "Draco tried to explain it to me earlier but he didn't really sound like he had a clue what he was talking about."

"No, I'm sure he still doesn't really understand," Hermione giggled, realising this was probably the first time she hadn't seen the Malfoy Matriarch in elegant and fitted clothes. She was wearing relaxed, although still undoubtedly expensive, green robes over some loose linen trousers that made her look far more approachable, while herself and Amelia had stuck with jeans and baggy t-shirts. "Clearly my explanation isn't good, so maybe it's just best you judge for yourself."

"You'll like it, Narcissa," Amelia said with an easy smile. "It's impossible not to love Hugh Grant."

"Who's-

"You'll see," Hermione grinned, waving her wand to flick on the television. "Shall I put it on?"

"Hold on a second," Narcissa sighed, rising from her seat. "I forgot the wine, I'll be back in a moment."

Hermione smiled and inhaled the Manor's sweet scent of wealth and cinnamon as the blonde slowly disappeared from the room. Narcissa gave the two Muggle-borns a warm glance over her shoulder as they started chatting again and she wandered down her familiar corridors, illuminating the way with her wand.

She headed for the kitchens and examined her wine racks critically before selecting a succulent Chablis that was a particular favourite of hers. She flinched when she heard a small noise somewhere down the hall but shrugged it off, reasoning it could be a House-elf or one of the girls.

Strolling back the way she'd come, she hesitated when she noticed a small sliver of light peeking through the door of one of her sitting rooms. Frowning when she realised all the rooms had been unoccupied and dark when she'd walked the route before, she removed her wand and quietly entered the room.

Her hands were tight around the glass bottle and her magical weapon as she eased herself past the door, her eyes instantly falling to the elaborate marble fireplace. The lit candles on two candelabras were flickering, rousing uncanny shadows across the walls that made her feel uneasy.

Moving further into the room, she studied the large space with darting eyes when the door slammed harshly behind her. With a barked scream, she dropped the bottle of wine in her shock and felt the shower of glass and liquid spatter against her legs. Whipping herself around, she released a sigh of relief when her eyes settled on the other occupant of the room.

"Dear Merlin," she breathed, laying her palm across her thundering chest. "You made me jump, love."

.

* * *

.

Harry stopped and his eyes snapped up in confusion. "No?" he repeated, remembering the man couldn't lie. "What about Justin Finch-Fletchley?"

"None of the Muggle-borns," he stated, looking exasperated as he tried to fight the forced honesty. "I had no problem with Muggle-borns-

"Then why the fuck would you be part of an anti-Muggle group?" Draco questioned sharply.

"It wasn't just about Blood Purity," he answered slowly, still doing his best to beat the potion. "We were a Revolutionary group. The reformed Death Eaters had to be exterminated."

"Exterminated," Malfoy echoed the word, wrinkling his nose in ire. "And you were the one who killed them?"

Montague's mouth twisted into a cold smirk. "I never hid my hatred for you lot," he reminded his enemy coldly. "I was given an opportunity to get rid of you all, so I took it."

"So why were letters sent inviting them to join this group?" Harry spoke up.

"We assumed some were waiting for an ample opportunity to pick up where Voldemort left off," he explained, his glare boring into the Malfoy heir. "Clearly, we were wrong. Apparently people do change and all that shit; present company accepted."

Draco bit at the inside of his mouth. "Some of us had some sense," he countered. "But I guess your mental issues have left you impaired-

"Fuck off," Graham spat. "They all got what they deserved."

"And I was next?"

"No," Montague breathed like his lungs were packed with embers. "I wasn't...permitted to kill you."

"What?" Draco hissed, sharing a confused glance with Potter. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You were never meant to be killed," he rephrased. "The other one wouldn't allow it."

"The other one," Harry nodded, leaning forward to analyse the prisoner. "What exactly can you tell us about him, Montague?"

"Use your head, Potter," he snarled viciously, or as viciously as he could in his restraints. "You know full well Veritaserum doesn't work that way. You need to ask direct questions and I probably won't be able to answer them anyway."

"Let's see," the Auror mumbled, lacing his fingers together. "We know it's a male, but can you confirm it?"

"The Vow won't allow it," he shook his head with a smug tone.

"What about any physical features?" Harry persisted.

"No."

Draco furrowed his brow and released a steadying huff of air. "Do we know the person?"

Montague tensed his jaw until a vein in his throat stretched against his skin. He growled; grinding his teeth in a desperate attempt to quell the honesty. The word rushed past his lips with a barely audible breath.

"Yes."

.

* * *

.

"Narcissa's been gone a while," Hermione commented with a slight frown. "Do you suppose she's alright?"

"She's fine," Amelia replied flippantly, spooning some more cream. "She's probably just lost. This place is like a labyrinth."

"I'm sure she's not lost, Amelia," the brunette chuckled at the thought. "She's lived here for years. Decades actually."

"Well, I don't think I could ever completely figure this place out," she said with a shrug. "And you might actually live here some day."

Hermione choked on a chunk of meringue. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you know," she continued with a cheeky glance. "If you and Draco get married then you'll probably live here-

"Married?" the witch blanched. "Bloody hell, we've barely been going out a few months-

"That's why I used the words _if _and _might_, Hermione," the other Muggle-born pointed out. "Are you telling me you haven't even thought about it?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," she told her calmly, but the notion simmered in her brain, itching to be acknowledged. "And I'm telling you now not to mention the word marriage in front of Narcissa. I'm betting she's already started planning an engagement party or something."

"I won't," Amelia agreed. "Although I can tell you've thought about it really-

"Drop it," Hermione interrupted, her face scrunching with concern. "But seriously, Narcissa's been gone a while. I'm just going to check she's alright-

"No, you stay here," the other witch stopped her, rising from the sofa. "You're meant to be relaxing. Besides, I want to have another look around this place."

"You're sure?" Hermione sighed hesitantly. "You know your way around enough?"

"I know my way to the kitchens," she nodded as she headed out of the room. "I'll be back in a second."

Hermione fought hard to ignore the realisation that this was the first time she'd been alone since Montague's attack, but it was pulsing and loud like a tumour at the front of her head. She nibbled her lip and tried to smother the bad feeling in her gut.

It was just nerves of course. Just nerves.

.

* * *

.

"I know him," Draco muttered, more to himself before he fixed Montague with demanding look. "Do I know him well?"

Another groan of resistance shuddered out of the man's mouth. "Yes," he blurted, loudly this time. "Bloody hell, Malfoy! How could you not have figured this out? It's all there-

"What's all there?" the blond barked impatiently, slamming his fist against the table. "Tell me, Montague! Tell me who he is!"

"You need to ask direct questions-

"Fuck your direct questions!" Draco shouted, shooting up from his chair and drawing his wand. "I don't give a shit if I have to torture it out of you-

"Malfoy-

"Shut up, Potter!" he yelled, aiming his wand at Montague with a rage-trembling hand. "You know I'll do it, Montague! I'll hex you until you bleed the truth! Ever had a _Crucio_, Montague? Because-

"Use your head, Malfoy!" the bound man screamed back, his eyes wide and crazed. "Think! How did I know you weren't going to be at your house?"

Draco's mouth slammed shut.

.

* * *

.

After hour-long minutes alone in the room, Hermione decided she couldn't wait any longer. With her wand and in a trained defensive stance, she slipped out of the room in search of the other two witches. She stiffened when she heard some unsettling shuffles echo up the corridor, but her Auror instincts influenced her feet to move towards the sounds.

She could hear more noises now. Something close to whines and moans that kissed a shiver down her spine. But amongst the ghostly groans she heard a familiar voice that called out for help, muffled by what sounded like crying.

_Amelia. _

With a deep breath and a ton of useful spells licking her tongue, she shoved open the door and stumbled into the room with her wand stretched out in front of her.

She should have stayed outside.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Phew! Sorry about the wait again but same reasons as last time...and I'll admit that I also struggled a little with this chapter. But I can drink wine again now so I'm back on track! Maybe I just don't like that this story is so close to finishing...sad face...

Anyway I'm sure you've all guessed by now who it is so yay you!

I hope you'll join me as I finish this story though...even if you have sussed it all 've all been so wonderful so far. I've had more than I could have hoped for so I am eternally grateful...And my offer still stands for a wine party if anyone ever finds themselves wandering the British countryside!

Mmmm...wine...

I also meant to apologise in an earlier chapter if there was any British slang that some people didn't understand. Let me know and I'll explain anything that's unclear...I just completely forget to be honest!

Massive thanks to **waterflower20 **for taking the time to review a few chapters and give me some helpful feedback! Also thanks to **SimplyChristine **for letting me know which phrases you liked! And you can do whatever you like with your Halo, lovely!

Speaking of Halos...did you all get yours? I hope so...I forked out for special delivery!

So...yes...lend me your thoughts for these last chapters because they're important to me! Especially seeing as it's my first Dramione...So...Read and Review and I'll send some wings to match those Halos!

See you in 4-9 days...

**Next Chapter:...I don't want to give anything away so I'll just say it's the big one...**


	33. Scream

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 33: Scream.

.

The door slammed behind her with a rumbling bang, but she barely heard it.

_...MUDBLOOD!_

_...FILTHY SCUM!_

_...DISGUSTING BITCH!_

"Oh, shit," Hermione swore, her hands snapping up to cover her ears in a futile attempt to muffle the swarm of voices. They were too loud and there was too many of them; all with malicious threats that tore into her eardrums like shrill splinters. The room was plunged in darkness and she tried to angle her wand between her fingers, reluctant to uncover her ears.

"_Lumos!_" she shouted, and suddenly she was surrounding by them; hundreds of animated portraits that were spitting with their hatred.

_Oh god..._

They were screaming at her, firing insults like platinum arrows that pierced her skull and scorched her brain. The glow of her wand flickered as she tried to keep her concentration, and she spotted a small collection of wilted candles nearby. She shakily aimed her wand and illuminated the wicks as the _Lumos_ charm fizzled out.

The subtle flames cast a golden haze across some of the paintings, and it was then she realised just how vast the room was. It stretched beyond the glare of the candles, but she could see enough to surmise it was some kind of library, complete with a mass of stacks and shelves that were lined with battered books.

The blaring portraits of her lover's ancestors were smeared across the walls and ceiling, all staring down at her with painted tongues that stabbed at her senses with abusive threats. Her eyes flitted over them with panicky darts before she spun around and frantically started to fumble with the doorknob.

It wouldn't budge.

She tried her wand, muttering every unlocking incantation that she could think of, but nothing worked.

"Oh, come on," she whined, giving the door a shove with with her shoulder. And then another. And then another with all her strength that made her shoulder pop. She moaned when pain ricocheted down her arm, but another round of loud taunts made her palm her ears again. She knew she couldn't silence them with magic, and now she couldn't leave.

Trapped.

She slid down the door and crumpled in a heap on the floor, folding her limbs tight against her and digging the balls of her hands into the shells of her ears.

_...DIRTY BLOOD!_

_...SHOULDN'T TAINT THIS HOUSE!_

_...ABOMINATION!_

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, digging her nails into her scalp and clenching her eyes shut in a trivial attempt to block out their voices. Her retaliation only seemed to excite them, and their cold snaps and bites became more forceful and severe, and she wanted nothing more than the shadows to engulf her.

And then, amongst the tirades of scratching omens and promises of cruelty, something stuttered. A broken little sound that smuggled in through the cracks of her fingers. It was familiar and known; the reason she had entered this venom-infested room in the first place.

_Amelia. _

A whimper. A soft little droplet of sound that rippled within the echoes of the dark space. She needed to find her.

_They can't hurt you...They're just paintings...Just words..._

Her mother's voice...

_Stick and stones..._

With a breath to unsuccessfully quench some of her fear, she slowly took her hands away from her head and allowed the full extent of the deafening poison to invade her. She was reminded of the Golden Egg from the Triwizard Tournament as the screeches and slurs harassed her ears, but she ground her teeth and willed the crippling racket to reach an equilibrium.

She trembled a little as she rose to her feet, using the door for support. She tried to concentrate and distinguish the different noises, listening for that distinctive feminine weep. She walked a little further into the room, eyeing the foreboding black abyss that lingered some distance away from her, untouched by the candlelight.

Her eyes moved around the huge area, flinching as she absorbed the agitated portraits completely. They were shifting amongst the various frames, all glaring at her like she was nothing better than a repulsive rat that had wandered into their cavern. They were all so striking, most with that typical pearly-blond hair, but there was nothing pleasant about these Malfoys.

They were like barking dogs, all hungry to bite at her and tear her to pieces. Her ears were still shuddering with their roars, but the need to find Amelia teased her Gryffindor impulses and she fixed a defiant scowl on her face; one that Draco would have applauded.

It wavered and very nearly caved when she was convinced she could feel blood beginning to seep out of her ears. Her head was throbbing but she needed to move; she needed to find Amelia. She hissed the humid air through her teeth as the sharp horde continued to stab at her.

_Oh god, it hurts..._

"AMELIA!" she shouted as loud as she could, but the call was drowned amongst the chaos, as was any response. "AMELIA!" Her voice broke, shattering like overused violin strings in her attempts to outshout the pack of paintings. "LUMOS!"

The light wasn't as bright as she would have liked, but it was too hard to concentrate so it would have to do. The glow fluctuated and the mingling shadows waved over the paintings in a sinister flow. The place was enormous, like a forgotten and dark labyrinth with aisles upon aisles that served as a colossal maze that swallowed light and hope.

She had that feeling in her chest, like something evil and dangerous was preparing to pounce on her behind one of the countless bookcases. Just waiting. Biding its time.

"AMELIA!" she tried again, trying so desperately to be heard over the rowdy ancestors, and finally she was rewarded with that desired noise. A helpless and choking cry.

Hermione quickened her steps, her head snapping from side to side as she became more and more engulfed by the darkness. Another whimper. She ducked down an aisle, following the pathetic sounds as best she could. There was a shuffle of feet. She shot down another aisle.

Common sense tugged at her brain, warning her that she was getting sucked into the void of shadows, and that the door was lost behind her now, but Amelia was in here somewhere.

Another sob.

Another aisle.

Shadows.

"AMELIA!"

And the whine was louder this time. She was close. Very close. But this place echoed. The mind and darkness delighted in tricks together. What if she was wrong? Amelia could be anywhere. _She _could be anywhere.

She glanced down another aisle and her steps stopped so quickly that she skidded and stumbled, grazing one of her knees across splintering floorboards. She felt her jeans rip and the burning friction against her flesh, but she barely noticed.

She flew down the corridor to the huddled figure, the light on her wand burning a little brighter as she sprinted towards the crumpled form. Amelia's face was in her hands, her blonde hair scruffy as she moaned and rocked on her knees. Hermione was at her side in a second, sinking to the floor and trying to pull the other girl's hands away from her face.

She forced some more of her magic into the _Lumos _charm so she could ensure her friend wasn't injured in any way. She breathed out to discover she was completely unharmed, but trembling like Autumn leaves.

"It's okay," she consoled, pushing back the witch's golden locks and managing to connect their eyes. "It's okay, Amelia. It's me."

And the portraits shouted louder.

.

* * *

.

Montague had clearly crossed the line. The Vow was protesting his words and he screamed in pain, his body convulsing like he was in the grips of a seizure.

But Draco didn't care.

Something had clicked in his head; something unwelcome and bitter. Images flashed in his skull, accompanied by racing phrases that darted across his eyelids and conscious. Montague had been right. It was all there for him to see; he just didn't want to see. Couldn't see. Wouldn't see...

No.

_Fucking no. No, no, no, no..._

"NO!" he screamed, slamming his palms on the table. He was on his feet, his chair clattering behind him. "You're bluffing! You lying piece of shit-

"You know I can't lie!" Montague countered, gasping in breaths as the pain continued to surge through his veins like liquid death. "Think, you dull prick! You know it-

"What is he on about, Malfoy?" Harry interrupted, his eyes flickering between the other two men. "Malfoy-

"Shut up, Potter!" Draco yelled, grabbing the desk and throwing it against the wall with an infuriated toss. He was in the prisoner's face, his fist clamping around the other man's throat. "You're fucking lying!"

Graham was painfully aware that the Vow was now slowly killing him. He'd betrayed it, but suddenly death seemed far more appealing. That was the thing with the Vow; the pain would only get worse, torturing you for your treason. There was no point in trying to avoid it. Once you'd crossed that invisible line, there was nothing you could do.

Screw his co-killer. Why should he protect him? They had only teamed up to satisfy their selfish wants, but Montague's plot was sliced short. He had failed. He'd been caught. Now, what else was there? Screw the life of an insane man in Azkaban; and insane he would definitely be. He was already half-way there.

Death was the way. Death was definite and eternally inevitable. Unavoidable, and on its way to release him. Just around the corner...

_But let Malfoy's begging and broken face be the last thing I see..._

"I am not!" he argued, hoping that antagonising the Vow might bring the inevitable a little quicker. "L-look at me! I've broken the Vow-

"You're wrong!" Draco continued his rant, tightening his grip on the other wizard's throat, but his tone didn't have the conviction he would have liked. "You are mistaken-

"N-no," Montague smirked, enjoying the darkening of the blond's eyes as realisation sank in, even if he could feel his insides literally cooking beneath his flesh. "She knew it too. But you j-just wouldn't listen."

Draco watched his own arm go limp and he stumbled away, blasted by the reality.

He was right; Hermione had known.

_He_ had known. From the moment he'd learned of the attacks in Europe, something had niggled at his mind; something he didn't want to acknowledge, because it would change everything.

The attacks...They'd all been been in the obvious cities; Paris, Berlin, Vienna...except one.

The attack in Asolo...the Italian village he'd heard of before...from Blaise...

Blaise Zabini's original home. His birthplace. The place where he'd lived before he'd moved to London...

And with that aching awareness, the images slowed so he could grasp them.

Blaise's presence at the Ministry during Finch-Fletchley's murder...

How Montague had known how to enter his home..._When _to enter his home...

Even the codes for the letters had been in Roman Numerals...His Italian heritage...

Hermione's discomfort and her suspicions...He closed his eyes like he was in pain...Suspicions he had seen but chosen to ignore...

Fuck, he'd even called her Mudblood.

"Looking a little guilty there, Malfoy," the other Slytherin's voice dragged him back to the painful present. "Can I assume by that face of yours that you have figured it out?"

Draco didn't reply. He didn't know how to. Everything had left him; sense, sanity, reason, the will to fight. The stirrings in his gut and chest were consuming, like something was tearing him apart from the inside. This was how Hell felt, digging into the wispy remainders of his soul and scratching at it until it was buried under the fingernails of revenge.

This was his punishment. It burned like blue flames. Like the poison they feed the condemned.

The Hell twisted his lungs, restricting his breaths until his chest seared. He whipped around to cough up a sample of his lunch and bile, panting when the air finally seized his lungs. Just breathing...

"Come now, Malfoy," Montague's voice was taunting again, but if Draco had turned, he would have seen the strain in his face as he succumbed to the Vow's sting. "Can you honestly say you knew him?" He paused to gargle on his own blood, spitting it on the floor but keeping his smirk in place. "Clearly not."

More honesty that shredded his centre. His being.

No, now he realised that he didn't really know Blaise. Had they ever really known each other? Not in the way Hermione knew Potter and Weasley. But he'd been the only connection to his life before the War and someone who he'd thought he could trust...Someone who he had trusted for years...

And now...

"Malfoy," Harry's voice grabbed his attention, and Draco turned to find the Auror inspecting the suffering prisoner. "The Vow is killing him."

Draco felt the void fill with rage.

"Good," he spat the syllable, the remnants of bile spattering past his lips. "Let him fucking rot."

Montague was drenched in sweat now, veins bulging out of his neck and forehead as he tensed against the pain. He released a shuddering scream as a jolt rumbled through every bone of his body, but Draco didn't flinch.

"But, Malfoy," Potter spoke again. "I need to get him-

"You leave him where he is," the blond warned, his voice laden with animosity. "I'm not finished yet."

Harry wasn't sure what exactly made him obey, but something in Malfoy's tone had been menacing and unstable, like the low growl of a wolf before the attack. His grey eyes were dilated and bloodshot and his teeth were bared, like a feral mask of fury that could do anything.

Draco's already flimsy conscience lingered somewhere in the air between them, forgotten for the moment.

He was in Montague's face again, uncaring to the other wizard's fleeing life.

"It's Blaise," he stated with some difficulty, Potter's surprised gasp drowned out by Montague's smug smirk.

"Twenty points to Slytherin," he rushed out, his voice weak and failing. "And you're not annoyed because it doesn't make sense of because you feel betrayed. You're annoyed because you refused to see it-

"Fuck you," he snarled, watching as a trail of blood slithered out of the man's mouth. "I hope this is torturing you. I hope you're begging for death in your sick little head."

"And I hope the truth is tearing you up inside," Montague hissed back, and some flecks of blood spattered against Draco's chin.

"It doesn't matter," he countered coldly. "I win. We know who it is now. It's over."

Montague felt his internal organs start to cave and implode, and he roared loudly as the torment bubbled within him. It felt like he had swallowed lava; every cell vibrating and fracturing. It was time.

Draco stepped away from the doomed man when blood began to seep from his nose, ears and eyes; like he was weeping away his life. His lungs and heart would be the last to go, prolonging the anguish for as long as possible. With his last breaths, he gargled out his final words.

"N-not over," he whispered, but Draco could hear it perfectly. "Wh-where is he?"

And then his head was lolling to the side like a clumsy child's toy, red ribbons flowing out of him and trickling onto the floor with with loud splats. He was gone. But the echoes of his words rattled in Draco's brain.

_Not over...where is he? What the fuck-_

"Blaise is the other one?" Potter's voice disturbed the chaotic peace, and Draco snapped his eyes over to the man. "As in Blaise Zabini?"

Malfoy didn't answer for a long minute as his mind fought desperately to understand the news. "Apparently so," he muttered finally, feeling the weight of responsibility as he spoke. Montague's final words were still troubling him and he flipped them over in his head.

_Not over..._

_Where is he? He...Blaise?_

_Where is Blaise?_

His eyes widened. Blaise. He could get into the Manor...

Hermione. His Mother.

"Fuck!" Draco swore, turning to Potter with wild, thunderstorm eyes. "We need to get to the Manor!" he shouted, crossing the room for the door. "Hermione-

"Shit."

Harry instantly understood and joined Malfoy's sprint out of the room, both men forgetting the wilting corpse they'd left behind that was still sweating red rivers and truth.

.

* * *

.

_...MUDBLOODS!_

_...NOT WELCOME HERE!_

_...FUCKING SCUM!_

"Hermione," the blonde witch sighed, frantically reaching out and grasping at the other Muggle-born. "Make them stop," she begged, her voice thick with tears and hysteria. "Please make then stop."

"I can't," Hermione frowned, apologetically rubbing the other girl's back. "I can't. Only the owners can-

"They're so loud," Amelia continued, whining into her friend's shoulder. "It hurts-

"I know, I know," she soothed, glancing around at the framed animosity and willing them to cease their lashing tongues. "We need to get out of here-

"The door won't open!"

"I know," Hermione repeated, pulling away and gripping the woman's shoulders firmly. "But there's two of us now. If we both use our magic then we might-

"I've lost my wand," Amelia moaned, shaking her head so that some of her tears flew away from her face. "I-I don't know where it is. They made me jump and it rolled away and it's so dark-

"Why were you in here?" she questioned suddenly, a warning notion scurrying into her mind.

"I could hear noises," the witch explained shakily. "So-so I was walking around and I saw the door closing and I thought it was Narcissa...

The rest of Amelia's words grew hazy and irrelevant in Hermione's ears, and even the garish goads of the portraits withered as her brain spasmed around her realisation. Her hand went knuckle-white tight around her wand and her eyes started darting around her with paranoid swipes.

Her fear was overpowering now, clawing at her bones and veins and chasing away the air in her lungs. Adrenaline and Amelia had suppressed it, but now it battled its way into her core, suffocating and raw.

"We're not alone in here," Hermione muttered, instantly regretting voicing her thought when she heard her companion gasp.

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked, her voice barely audible within the bedlam.

Hermione contemplated answering, but her fear was scaring away her reason and her ability to form sentences. She didn't want to say the words again really, she didn't want to acknowledge what she was thinking. Amelia had been led to the room, just like she had, and now she was beginning to understand why.

A trap.

She was about to repeat herself when she realised something. The portraits were calming, their voices simmering and dwindling until only hers and Amelia's breaths were echoing in the spacious room. Hermione flinched and snapped her head around when she heard a floorboard or bookcase creak, but the acoustics of the room made it impossible to figure out where from.

She looked around at Draco's ancestors, confused when she realised they were all subdued and still, just staring at the two Muggle-borns with scorn. But completely silent. And the silence was worse.

Something licked up her spine, making her shiver, and her breath hovered in front of her like a familiar ghost. Her skin bubbled with bumps and her body began to quake. She knew the symptoms well, as did most people, but she'd never had them strike her so quickly.

Cold.

So could she could already feel numbness sinking into her fingers and the tip of her nose. She waved her wand over herself and Amelia and tried the only warming charm she knew, but instantly knew it wouldn't have much effect. The chilling air was too strong, powerful enough that her smoky breaths were surrounding her like a bride's veil She eyed her friend and saw that Amelia looked equally frozen and frightened, nervously eyeing her surroundings and trying rub friction into her bare arms.

Another wooden creak vibrated amongst the maze of aisles, but Hermione still couldn't discern a direction. It was louder though. Closer.

"What was that?" Amelia questioned behind her chattering teeth.

Hermione's face creased in terror.

_Definitely not alone..._

"There's someone else in here," she whispered, dimming the glow of her wand.

.

* * *

.

Caleb ran a hand through his mousy-brown hair as he strolled towards the Floo Network. As grateful as he was that Hermione had scored him a job at the Ministry to help with the case, he had landed himself with her work while she was recovering from Montague's attack. True, he could have done it at home, but the Ministry had much better resources for his needs and tasks.

He hadn't exactly rushed either, knowing his fiancé intended on keeping Hermione entertained at Malfoy Manor, along with Narcissa. He surmised it was only around half eight so perhaps it was a little too early to go to the Manor. After all, Hermione was his friend, and could certainly do with whatever distraction Amelia had planned.

He contemplated returning home but remembered then that Malfoy was interviewing Montague tonight. He would have paid good money to be present, not just view the spectacle, but also to offer Draco some form of support. He knew _he_ wouldn't be able remain collected if he was left in a room with someone who had touched Amelia, so he could only imagine how Malfoy's temper was coping.

He knew Draco well enough to know that he would have benefited from an ally in the room. A friend.

He stopped when he heard thundering steps approaching from one of the corridors, and he turned a corner to witness Malfoy sprinting down the path with Potter close on his heels. It was the urgency in Draco's face and movements that instantly had Caleb worried, and he placed himself in the way of the frantic men.

"Malfoy!" he called, growing even more fretful when the blond didn't pause his race. "What's wrong-

"It's Blaise," Draco panted, only a few feet away from him. "The Manor!"

Caleb was still for a second as he absorbed the words, Draco darting past him as he acknowledged the reason for the panic. And that panic crawled into him through every crevice until it latched onto his heart, and down into his legs. He was sprinting then, caught in between his old schoolmate and the Auror.

The unlikely trio skidded around corners and darted through the halls, each equally alarmed and desperate; each having the same goal and concerns. Draco didn't care about the two men behind him, his mind solely focussed on getting to the Manor. Getting to Hermione. His mother.

_Blaise..._

It still burned, but the scorching sensation in his lungs burned harder. The _need _to know Hermione was safe scorched enough to scar. He released a roar that surged him forward, just as the fireplaces came into view. He went to the nearest one, snatching the Floo powder and screaming out his address, only vaguely aware that Caleb and Potter mimicked his actions in the neighbouring fireplaces.

He remembered briefly that his mother had altered the Manor's wards to allow access to Potter and Weasley when Hermione had moved in; something he'd never thought he'd be grateful for until now.

A Floo journey had never felt so long, and he stumbled on his panic-clumsy feet as he arrived in the familiar sitting room. He didn't wait for the other two men, just ruthlessly tore his way into the corridor and starting screaming _Alohomora _at every door he came across.

"HERMIONE!" he screamed, his voice rumbling around his ancient home. "MOTHER!"

For the first time in his life he despised the enormity of his home. There were too many rooms. Too much ground to cover. He kept shouting for the women, his voice quickly turning hoarse with his volume. The walls also trembled with Caleb and Potter's screams for the witches, but all the calls were met with nothing but mocking silence the reflections of their shouts.

Blasting open another door, Draco was quickly becoming unstable, his actions jittery and frenzied as he searched his house.

_Where the fuck is she? Where are they?_

He forced himself into another room with a loud grunt, his eyes scanning quickly before deciding it was empty. Just like the others. Why were they all bloody empty? Why couldn't he find them?

_Oh shit..._

What if they weren't here? What if they'd been taken away? And he was in the wrong place, pointlessly hunting around his house while Hermione and his mother could be suffering Merlin knew what.

His brain was littered with the shards of questions, and they stabbed at his sanity. That feeling of helplessness started to ebb into his skull, but his alarm smothered it and he kept going. Kept searching. Kept shouting for them.

He landed in a room and faltered. His lover had been her. Her unmistakable scent of cinnamon and sunshine lingered in the air. Her robes were discarded over the arm of the couch, the cushion still concave with her dent.

But that was all.

Just the whispers of her. That was all that remained in the room.

"MALFOY!"

Caleb's voice broke through his senses, loud and demanding attention. Draco spun on his heel and ran for the call with devastating strides, circling into another lounge. He burst into the room just as Caleb was settling his mother on a couch, and his chest collapsed.

He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare.

His mother looked like mortality, stripped of her usual make-up and elegant attire and looking so vulnerable in her relaxed robes. She was pale, and it enhanced the ageing lines of her face, making her features fractured and fragile. She was still. Unresponsive. He was nothing. Empty.

"Malfoy, it's alright," Caleb's voice wafted into his recovering mind, and he gave him a blank look. "She's okay."

And he was alive again. Air pushed into his lungs and colours returned to the world. He could move again, and his legs carried him straight to his mother's side as Potter entered the room. His eyes moved over her and checked for any injuries, sighing when he found none.

Harry's shoes scraped over the shattered glass bottle, a sharp tang of wine buzzed in his nostrils. "Is she alright?" the Auror questioned, looking genuinely concerned.

Draco didn't answer, reaching into his robes to remove his wand and revive her. His hand brushed against something soft and it hindered his actions. Glancing down, Draco didn't quite know what to make of what he saw.

He hadn't even realised Crookshanks was in the room, but his lover's pet gave his knee a soft nuzzle before turning and licking affectionately at Narcissa's limp hand. He would probably never know why, but the sight gave him a sobering moment of a peace for all of a second before the weight of the situation shrouded him again.

"_Enervate!_" he choked out loudly, his eyes transfixed as his mother bolted upright and inhaled like she'd never tasted air before. "Mum, it's alright," he tried to calm her terrified breaths, watching with concern as her terrified stare shifted between himself and the two other wizards. "It's me, Mum-

"Draco," she gasped, clutching at his sleeves. "Blaise...h-he-

"I know," he hushed her, trying to keep his voice calm. "Where's Hermione?"

"We-we were in the main room-

"Fuck," he spat, his hands shaking with rage.

Where was she? He was losing it again. His mother's stable state had been a small break from his hysteria, but now it was back like a shower of black ice. He growled and launched his fist into the wall, oblivious to the loud crunch of his knuckles.

"Can you stand?" he snarled abruptly, turning to his mother.

"Yes," she answered, nervously observing him and placing her feet on the ground. "Wh-

"Go to St Mungo's," he demanded sharply. "Get the Aurors, and explain what you know-

"I could help-

"NOW!" he yelled, pointing a quivering arm towards the fireplace. "I want you out of this house! It's not safe, and I need to find Hermione!"

"Draco," she tried, reaching out in an attempt to catch his hand. "Calm down-

"I need to find her!" he reiterated, grabbing her arm and ushering her roughly to the fireplace. "Go, Mother! Now!"

With a single tear trailing down her cheek and a final forlorn look at her son, she obeyed, and Draco felt a feather-light weight leave his shoulders knowing she was out of the Manor. He hadn't even realised that Caleb and Potter had left the room and were continuing their screams for the lost witches.

His body moved automatically, his vision blurry with panic and fright. And yes, fuck it, he was frightened. Frightened that something had happened to her. _Her_...

Was she even still here? Was she hurt? Was she-

He tripped over his feet just at the thought, collapsing to the floor with a guttural howl of volatile frustration. He leaned against the wall and slammed his head back, covering his face with his palms. He knew he needed to capture his reason and logic, but the panic had taken over. He felt helpless. Useless.

_Merlin, help me..._

And then a bizarre noise echoed down the corridor, dragging him back to reality. He knew the noise; Crookshanks' meow. Nothing more and nothing less, but he was hastily scrambling to his feet and tracking the pet's cries. He meandered around the Manor's walls, his earlier sprint stealing his legs again.

Finally, he found the cat, clawing and whining at a door.

His adrenaline surged, drugged by hope and determination.

And then he realised where he was, and he begged to forgotten deities and whimsical destinies that she wasn't inside.

But instict and fate were punishing him tonight.

.

* * *

.

A/n: This is more like it, isn't it? Three or four days with an update! My Halo is glowing a little brighter...

So, how was it...? Gaaahhh...nerves...I did contemplate putting the next part of the story in here but decided this was a good place to leave it...and that chapter could have gotten a bit too long. Plus, and forgive me for saying this, but you guys seemed a little...impatient...

Thanks for the amazing reviews once again...Your wings are on the way! And to the 200+ people that have added this story to their favourites...Ta very much! Massive thanks to **Banky** because your review just made me chuckle for ages! Still am a little...Also thanks to **FE **because your review was such a pleasure to read. And for everyone else who reviewed, have a glass of wine on me...And make that large glasses for the lovelies that took the time to write a lengthy one (you know who you are).

I feel like I should apologise to any sensitive people because there was a good deal of language in here...but you know what? I'm British and I swear all the time...so, fuck it, there you go!

Let me know what you think...The nerves just came back so I'm having another glass of wine...This chapter was rather...intense for me to write so I'd really appreciate your thoughts. Thanks again!

**Next Chapter: It's cold in the shade, but colder in shadows...**


	34. Shadows

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 34: Shadows.

.

Sometimes, light could be an enemy.

Hermione gave her companion a meaningful look before the final flickers of the _Lumos _simmered away. She saw the panic in her friend's eyes spark like crackling coal and quickly clamped her palm over Amelia's trembling mouth. The glow from the candles some distance away didn't reach them, but she could just discern outlines and shapes within the black void.

"It's okay," Hermione murmured quietly, unsure if Amelia had even heard her.

But it wasn't okay. She could hear it now; a third set of breaths whispering amongst the shadows. Another creak of wood skimmed across the floorboards, and Hermione felt the vibrations of movement quake against her knees. She wedged her tongue between her teeth to still the chattering, her mouth going crisp and dry as the cold continued to harass them.

Too cold.

Too dark.

Trapped.

Her Auror instincts were kicking in, although she could feel that they had been dampened by her recent attack. They'd been in the same place too long and had made too much noise. Whoever was slithering between the aisles would know their whereabouts by now, and instinct was screaming that the third party was best avoided.

There was another whine of worn wood.

They were stationary targets. They had to go. Now.

"We need to move," she mumbled as lightly as possible, taking her hand away from the witch's mouth.

She rose to her feet as carefully as she could, flinching when the ancient floor moaned beneath her weight. Bending down to help Amelia, her trained eyes scanned the area around them, searching for shifting shadows or anomalies, but her surroundings looked like they'd been painted in slick tar.

She grabbed the other witch's wrist and slowly started to walk blindly down the aisle, willing Amelia's whimpers to simmer. Keeping her wand at a defensive angle in front of her, she tentatively started to guide them, squinting her eyes and using the shady lines of the bookcases as a navigation aid.

She could still see her breath, lingering in front of her ominously. It distracted her for a moment and she lost her path, colliding into the shelf and sending a heavy book to the floor with a loud thud. The sound carried, rumbling like thunder.

Hermione had always hated storms.

She froze on the spot, waiting for the consequences of her mistake. Silence spat at her mockingly, enhanced by the dark and cruel with the cold. The sinister mixture wrapped itself around them, engulfing the two Muggle-borns and rooting them to floor. And then it was broken; shattered by a disturbance that clawed at her eardrums and scraped invisible fingernails down her spine.

A throaty chuckle.

A masculine vibration of vocal chords that constricted her chest and made every muscle in her body seize up. She wanted to cry. Wanted to turn around and sprint for the door or the furthest corner of the enormous room.

As a second clap of callous laughter struck the room and snatched a terrified gasp from her lips, her brain twitched. Her mind had done this before...At the Christmas ball.

_...Very impressive, Miss Granger..._

_...Sometimes, Malfoy forgets his place..._

She shivered. She wished Draco was here more than anything. These were the phrases that had made her uncomfortable.

_...Very impressive, Miss Granger..._

"...But still a Mudblood," she whispered to herself, finishing the sentence that had been scribbled to her. She recognised the voice behind the chuckle.

She'd been right.

_Oh, God... _

"Blaise."

They needed to escape.

She headed towards the faint burn of candles, knowing they were near the door. If she could just get there then maybe a spell would pop into her head and they could run, but an icy breeze rushed over her shoulders, and the remains of warm light dissipated.

Her goal was extinguished. Simple as that.

There was nothing now. Just a freezing abyss. No outlines, no shapes, nothing. But it only lasted for a few seconds.

.

* * *

.

Everything was blurry except the door. His panic was making everything unfocussed, like a grey mist at the fringes of his vision. He needed to get to her. She was in there; he could feel it in his throbbing chest.

Why did it have to be the portrait room?

"CALEB!" he shouted, charging down the long corridor. "POTTER! GET HERE, NOW!" He fumbled with his wand and pointed it at the door. "_Alohomora!"_

It didn't open. Didn't even budge.

Crookshanks whined louder but moved to the side, sending Draco an almost hopeful look that was completely missed by the rage-pumped male.

He could hear the other two wizards running towards him, their footfalls heavy and alert. He fired another unlocking charm before he reached the door, and then another. His hands latched around the doorknob, his grip denting the brass as he frantically tried to pull it open.

Nothing. It didn't even rattle.

"You're certain they're in there?" Caleb panted as he came to Draco's side.

"I'm positive!" he snapped, gesturing to his lover's lamenting pet. "That fucking cat-

"Have you tried an unlocking charm?" Harry cut in, animated with worry.

"Of course I have, Potter!" Draco bellowed. Merlin forgive him for hexing the stupid prat in his current state. "You are such a-

"Are you certain, Draco?" Caleb bit out, his voice clipped with impatience and alarm. "I can't hear anything-

"_Finite Incantantem!_" the blond spat, releasing the silencing charm his mother had placed on the room a few years ago. "It's the portrait room-

"Shit," Caleb hissed, his eyes going wide as he grasped the relevance of the words. "Draco, I still can't hear anything."

That made him falter. The paintings of his ancestors should have been screaming abuse at his Muggle-born girlfriend, promising her death threats that would have easily carried into the hallway. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The fog returned to his glare.

"Move out the fucking way!" Draco demanded, hurling his shoulder into the door.

.

* * *

.

Hermione released a small sound of shock when the bang invaded the room; loud and bold like a battle drum. She felt Amelia jolt behind her, the other witch obviously petrified. And then, out of nowhere, an explosion and a shower of light burst right next to her.

The blast shoved her forward, and she lost her hold on Amelia when a swarm of splinters attacked her arm. The shards scorched her skin as she tumbled across the floorboards with a scream of fright, smacking her head against a bookcase as she became more absorbed by the darkness.

She groaned and reached up to nurse her aching skull, feeling warm fluid trickle down her fingers and soak into her curls. Her arm was burning and she touched that next, grunting when she fingered four inch-long spikes piercing her flesh.

She fixed her wand between her knees and bit hard on her lower lip as she removed the individual thorns, unable to stop the small moan when she yanked out the largest. She could feel her blood streaming down her arm, tickling her elbow.

Taking a deep breath, she shakily rose to her feet, her mind a little dizzy from the blow to her head. Her shoulder hurt like acid rain, but she had to keep herself steady; needed to find Amelia in the labyrinth of shadows. They were separated. This was bad. The danger felt more real now she was alone.

She contemplated if it was wise to reveal her whereabouts by calling for Amelia, but when a shattering and vulnerable scream sliced through the hectic peace, the terror intensified.

"AMELIA!" the witch screamed, exposing herself to the dark and wobbling on her legs. She had no idea where she was or where she was stumbling, but instinct convinced her she needed to try. "AMELIA!"

And then the chuckle was polluting the air again, heavy and dense like smog. She stopped moving, bracing herself against one of the stacks with fleeing faith.

"Calm yourself, Granger," the sickly drawl flooded her senses; probing and bitter. "She's here."

He had Amelia...

There was another resounding bang far off to her left. She heard it then; the distant male voices barely slipping into the room. And they were dulcet and breathtaking.

_Draco..._

But the comforting sounds were smothered when the familiar voice ripped through the humid air.

"Oh, good," it annunciated crisply, sounding closer this time. "Your reinforcements are here. I had hoped for a little more time alone."

She cringed at the dark and dormant agenda. The door banged again and she tried to pinpoint the direction; her bearings lost and the acoustics confusing.

"Come on, Granger," he spoke again, his calm voice accompanied by some feminine whimpers. Amelia. "We both know you're going to do the courageous thing. Or would you like me to kill her first?"

She wanted to fight. Every cell in her body was aching to go. She didn't care that her wand arm was injured. She slipped off her shoes, knowing she needed to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to have a successful confrontation. He was giving her an advantage with his taunting jibes, allowing her to edge closer to the source.

"Fine, Granger," he sighed, sounding ultimately bored. "We'll do this the hard way then. _Crucio_!"

Amelia's shriek pierced her earrdrums, and the cold was forgotten. Hermione dashed forward, her legs numb with impulse and instinct. She was close. She could feel the air pulsing with the vibrations of dark magic. But she was too hasty, and she smacked straight into a wooden surface, her forehead bouncing away from the bookcase and sending her sprawling to the floor.

Amelia's scream died, and then there was another explosion, close enough that she felt some of the fabric of her top singe away on her right side. She heard the bookcase next to her groan, and then it was on top of her, crushing her and snapping something in her wand arm. Something was impaling her too, just below her ribs and tearing at her insides.

She cried out, and the sound split the night in half.

.

* * *

.

Draco could feel his sanity seeping out of his ears as the screams leaked out of the room. He could feel himself shutting down, breaking apart from his head to his toes and crumbling like sand. She was just on the other side of the door. Just wood. And he couldn't help her. Couldn't save her.

He continued to throw himself against the door with feral lunges, but it was pointless. He knew it was, but he did it anyway. Unwelcome emotions were inflating his chest, threatening to burst out with desperate sobs that his breeding denied. He glanced at the other two men who looked equally tormented, Caleb in particular looking broken.

Draco's breathing was ragged and his eyes were threatening to spill with years-old tears. He felt beaten, physically and mentally; like someone had stripped him of everything he was made of.

And then Hermione's howl stole the remainders of his reason, and he was withering like starving brambles.

So, this was what it felt like drown; to lose half of your newly-beating heart. He slumped down to the floor, his body failing him as his questionable soul left him to suffer. He would swear that his insides were caving; his organs shrivelling as flashing images flared across his damp lids. Images of her. Of them.

One thousand shoulds, and a thousand more coulds.

_No..._

"NO!" he yelled, dragging himself up and aiming his wand at the door. He'd be damned if he let another dark wizard steal his will. "_Reducto!"_

The spell rebounded and caught his arm, searing his flesh. His palm shot up to cradle the wound and he eyed his bloody handprint before him like it held an answer. A promise.

Caleb had taken to hurling every hex imaginable at the door, somehow successfully managing to block the reflections of his attacks, having learned from Draco's injury.

Malfoy kept staring at his crimson-coated fingers as memories thrived on his hysteria.

.

* * *

.

The cold was smothrering her again, pricking her skin and stealing her breaths.

It was too heavy; squeezing the life out of her lungs slowly. She was vaguely aware that the portraits were animated again, not shouting but muttering dark whispers that sounded like hail hammering against a window pane.

The bookcase moved and she barked out another scream, feeling the large barb stab deeper into her side. The weight was gone but the pain remained. There was light now, burrowing in through the gaps of her lids, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She could feel controlled breaths stirring her eyelashes and she just didn't want to look at him.

"Open your eyes," he commanded gruffly, his casual tone abandoned. "Now, Granger!"

With a snarl of defiance she spat at him, hearing the satisfying splat of water hitting skin and a grunt of displeasure. Then there was hand gripping her face, the thumb pushing painfully into her cheekbone. One of his slow chuckles scratched across her face and the hand softened, his fingers stroking languid circles over her tear-stained features. She hadn't even realised she'd been crying.

"I always liked that about you, Granger," he muttered, brushing away some of the sweat-gems that had gathered on her forehead. "You were always a feisty witch. Not like Pansy."

"Pansy," she breathed the dead woman's name, her voice hitching when her sharp breath agitated the wound at her side. "Pansy was-

"Fickle," he finished for her, his voice professional and relaxed. "You know, she knew all about the attacks and when I killed Creevey. Not once did she complain or question me. I did her a favour. She was a fucking state."

She whined when the spike in her torso moved, but she refused to open her eyes. "And-and the others?" she stuttered. She knew this routine. More questions. More ticks of time.

"I didn't do the others," he revealed, and she could sense that he shrugged. "Just the Mudbloods-

"Muggle-borns," she corrected automatically, her tone stronger this time. "I thought you'd changed-

"What, like Malfoy?" he mocked her, laughter rumbling in his chest. "He is so bloody naïve."

"Draco-

"I knew Draco loved you before he did," he remarked bitterly, the topic evidently repulsive to him. "It was so _fucking _obvious Narcissa's birthday. I knew you'd ruin everything."

She didn't reply; just tried to judge how bad her injury was behind her sealed glare. Could she make a run for it? She doubted it. Her arm was definitely broken and the puncture to her abdomen...well, she didn't know. She could feel herself getting weaker and the thuds of her heart were starting fluctuate in her ears

"I won't tell you again," he snapped, his grip on her face turning harsh again. "Open your eyes!"

She didn't. Just trebled as the chill nibbled her skin.

Then his hand was yanking at her hair, ripping some of her blood-sodden locks out of her scalp. She shrieked but clamped her eyes tighter, gnashing her teeth to vent the pain. She felt the wedge of wood by her ribs twitch, and she knew he had latched his grip around it.

_Please, no..._

He twisted it and a silent scream ripped her throat.

"Open your fucking eyes!"

She yielded. And there he was, staring down at her, looking more at home that she'd ever seen him. This felt so familiar and yet so different. While Montague had been a slobbering mutt with clumsy actions and no control, Blaise appeared completely at ease, like he'd practised this until he'd perfected it.

Montague had possessed the volatile eyes of a madman, but Blaise's stare looked utterly rational and composed. She was terrified.

"That's better," he smirked down at her, his normally dead eyes lively with waves of bistre and bole. "I'm not going to rape you, Granger."

She choked on a sob.

"I would never lower myself," he continued, his voice gentle. "Graham misread my intentions when I said I wanted to fuck you over. But it was _beautiful _to watch your reactions to my letters."

Her vision was turning smoky with tears and the fading fight to live.

"This was what I wanted," he murmured, like he was a lover divulging a fantasy. "Hermione Granger; beacon of light to Mudbloods everywhere. Weak and _nothing."_

He paused to stoke her cheek again, toying with a teardrop between his thumb and index finger like he'd never seen one before.

"I always wondered what a broken angel would look like," he commented, almost dreamily to himself. Then he calmly angled his wand to her chest. "_Crucio._"

Every muscle in her waning body was boiling in acid.

.

* * *

.

His mother's words...

_The Manor has centuries of protective spells in the walls..._

His lips twitched.

_Not just protective spells..._

Draco continued to stare at his scarlet-stained hand, his brain sieving through his memories. Something was in him, dormant amongst the creases of his mind. Something that was important. He needed to grasp it. It needed to slot into place.

_Quickly..._

He had no idea how much time he had. The pendulum could have stopped swinging for all he knew.

"_Confringo!"_ Caleb screamed, deflecting the rebound with a roar of frustration. "For fuck's sake!"

Another scream tore into the hallway. Hermione. And just like that, Draco was snapped out of his trance and barging his way past Caleb, his panic-powered self firmly back in place. Rage poured back into him, streaming through is veins like a forgotten friend and warm like Firewhiskey.

He was going to get his witch. The other half.

Without a flinch, he stabbed his wand into his palm and dragged it under his flesh, blood quickly weeping out of the self-inflicted gash and glittering down his wrist. Oblivious to the round and wary eyes of Caleb and Potter, he slammed his palm against the door and smeared the wonderful liquid wide and proudly across the wood.

"_Finite Incantantem,_" he spat, the fire loud in his voice. He felt the soothing lick of conforming magic against his shaking fingertips and willed the spell to hurry.

_Hermione._

"Draco," Caleb choked, his voice completely devastated. Draco realised then that they hadn't heard Amelia for a while, and he could only imagine the trauma racing through his friend's head. "What are you-

"Just trust me," he breathed, and he could clearly hear how fragile his own voice was.

The buzz beneath his fingers stopped.

He eyed the door warily before he raised his wand. "_Alohomora."_

And it opened.

.

* * *

.

Amongst the torturing flames of the Unforgivable, Hermione spotted the piece of wood protruding out of her side. The spike was about eight inches long and had the thickness of a fifty-pence coin, and an image of a snowman's limb singed the corners of her eyes.

She knew then she was losing coherence. Her body was switching into the defensive mode one experienced before they died. She was going numb, and whimsical notions were spawning in her mind.

Thoughts of fireworks and lakes deep enough to swallow you whole. She was losing control. Her senses were failing.

And then the curse stopped.

There was no dark magic tainting her soul.

She could just make out Blaise above her, and he looked somewhere between agitated and shocked. She absently registered that the room was brighter and muffled voices were echoing outside the realm of understanding.

She knew though. She knew it was him. Her weak pulse fluttered slightly, as it always did when he was close.

"Draco," she whispered, and then the shadows took her.

.

* * *

.

..._BLOOD TRAITOR!_

_...SHAME TO THE MALFOY NAME!_

_...MUGGLE-LOVING BASTARD!_

The paintings roared to life when their relative darted into the room, wand outstretched and head snapping from side to side. With a flick of his wrist, they fell silent, glaring at him instead, but he was too preoccupied to give a fuck.

"HERMIONE!" he roared, charging down the central aisle and searching for something. Anything.

A whimper to his right.

Amelia.

Not Hermione.

He could hear Caleb screaming at his fiancée to wake up but he surged on, stampeding across the wooden floor. The aroma of fresh blood was ripe in the air; coppery and foreboding. He glanced down an aisle and saw a fallen bookcase, parts of it jagged and severed. There was a small rust-coloured puddle next to it and he halted, his personal chaos imploding in his skull.

"BLAISE!" he yelled, his voice rattling around the stacks, just as Potter came up behind him. "Where the FUCK is she, Blaise?"

"She's with me," came the steady response, and Draco whipped his head to the right. "Come here, Malfoy."

Potter made to move forward but the blond raised his arm to stop him. Blaise didn't know Potter was here. His Slytherin instincts clicked into place, warning him to devise some level of a scheme. Blaise wasn't stupid, and neither was he.

Giving Potter a stern look, he nudged his head, gesturing for him to take the other aisle. The Auror creased his brow in confusion before he gave a slow nod of understanding and disappeared from Draco's sight. He could only pray his old rival knew what he was doing.

"Come on, Draco," Blaise's casual voice called, and the pale man released a hesitant breath before his legs guided him to the voice.

He'd not been prepared for what he saw.

His former friend was standing casually, while his lover hovered in front of him like a dying swan. She was limp, slicked with blood that dripped against the floorboards. And beneath the clotting stains she looked blue, and it was then he noticed the cold. His eyes went to the large splinter in her side, embedded into her flesh, and he was almost collapsing to the floor.

He'd been too late. There was too much blood. She was-

"Is she-

"Not yet," Blaise interrupted bluntly. "Get a hold of yourself, Malfoy. You look pathetic."

"Fucking die!" Draco spat, locking eyes with his old schoolmate. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" the dark man fired back. "What the fuck were you thinking falling for a Mudblood-

"We got over all that shit-

"No!" Blaise shouted, his unstable eyes turning down to eye the unconscious Muggle-born with lingering malice. "No, they do not belong. They should not exist-

"Just give her to me," Draco demanded, knowing there was a hint of pleading in his voice. "It's over for you-

"Then surely one more won't hurt," he argued, cocking his head in a challenge. "Would it change your mind to know that one of _them_ killed your father?"

Malfoy blinked. "What?"

"My mother too," he went on, his wand coming to rest against Hermione's forehead. "Killed a couple of others as well, like Flint's father and Pansy's mother. Ringing a bell, Draco?"

He didn't respond; just kept his eyes focussed on the tip of Blaise's wand and willed Potter to make a move.

"And the Ministry told us it was one of Voldemort's men," he continued, his eyes dilating and his teeth flashing in the dim light. "It was fucking bullshit. A Mudblood killed them! The Ministry protected him! Him! Over an actual wizard!"

Draco's mind swirled for a second with this new development. Ghosts that had been laid to rest were stirring beneath his feet, opening old wounds.

The sad truth was he didn't care. His father remained dead and his lover remained lifeless. It didn't make a difference. Clearly to Blaise it had altered everything in his existence until it had moulded him into the monster he'd become. A monster he could have so easily turned into himself.

And perhaps some of the monster remained within his blood, but the beast was calmed by its mate.

Clearly he'd been silent for too long because Blaise clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"You don't give a fuck do you?" he stated, his tone disgusted and scolding. "The others didn't either. Not enough to kill anyway."

Had he honestly expected any different? "No," Draco answered simply, flinching when a vulnerable barely-there sound passed Hermione's lips. "She's still mine."

Blaise grunted and offered his one-time friend a cold smirk. "Well, now she's mine," he proclaimed as he moved his wand, and Draco watched with paused heartbeats when a green spark flicked out to lick Hermione's lips. "_Av-_

"_STUPEFY!" _

Draco threw himself forward to reach his witch before she hit the ground, absently aware of Potter binding Blaise. He crumbled to the floor and was frantically pushing her blood-damp hair away from her face, his fingers going to her throat. If there was life there, he couldn't feel it.

"No," he murmured, bringing his wand to her chest. _"Enervate!_" Nothing. "_Fucking Enervate!"_

His eyes fell to the wooden dagger in her torso and he was falling, burrowing his face into her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear, swallowing back a sob. "_Please_, just wake up."

He grabbed her cheeks, smearing one with his own blood.

She was his. She couldn't do this...

He had plans...Shoulds and coulds...

Gasping on emotion that was dying to be released, he planted his dry and cracked lips on her unresponsive ones, ready to let go of his failing sanity. He was shattering. He could actually feel it. The breaking down of his defences and psyche. This was it. There would be nothing after this.

He didn't want his mouth to leave hers. If she could not breath then he would breath for her. If they were connected then she was breathing too...

One of those stubborn and damning sobs broke the contact and he was lost. He didn't know where he was. Didn't know who he was.

And then the smallest puff of air ghosted across his chin.

.

* * *

.

a/n: Another quickie update! Um...love? No?...Aw...And I just sent off your little harps! Real gold, didn't you know?

So yeah...this is kind of the end...One more chapter and maybe an epilogue of you guys want it? You'll have to let me know! For the (I think...) three people who mentioned having a glass if wine...CHEERS! ...Um can I give you guys some info on my next story in the next chapter? It's pushing half five and I have work at ten...joy!

All of your reviews were amazing for the last chapter so I'm just going to say a massive thanks to **Everyone!** and hope that this chapter was okay...

By the way, yes I know there are some things still a little unexplained but they will come!

Read and Review...and drink some wine!

Disclaimer: still don't own a sodding thing...working on buying Draco though...

**Next Chapter: Final one...except possible epilogue...pssst...this isn't a tragedy...**


	35. Over

**HUNTED**

~.~

Chapter 35: Over.

.

Caleb was an emotional mosaic; cracked and a multitude of confusing shades that mingled into a mess. Amelia had been out of hospital for eight days following her four-day stay, but they had returned to St. Mungo's every day since. He glanced at her, sitting next to him on the uncomfortable waiting-room chairs with only a small scar on her temple to tell of her trauma. She was weary and worn, but if he looked close enough, he could see the elation that was dying to be released.

She was pregnant.

The Mediwitch had told him when she'd still been unconscious, and it had been the strangest feeling to ever cradle his gut. The excitement had been crushed by torrents of worry and anger, but it was there; a firefly in a cave just searching for the light.

He grabbed her hand and clutched it tight, scowling when the agitated redhead paced into his line of sight again. Potter was more tolerable, sitting opposite them and remaining completely still. The-boy-who-lived had handled everything better than he would have thought, but he guessed the man was developing an immunity for tragedy.

He'd dealt with the press and all the paperwork, keeping things as steady as he possibly could while Wizarding Britain had drowned in the drama.

"Maybe I should go in," Caleb muttered, giving his fiancé's hand another squeeze.

"Do you think that's wise?"

His uncertainty was reflected in Amelia's eyes. Draco had made it perfectly clear he was not to be disturbed, even shunning how own mother with some poison-laced words.

It had been twelve days, and Hermione was still unconscious.

Caleb had slipped into the room twice, once to let Draco know that Blaise had been sent to Azkaban and once to ensure he was still breathing. He had barely received a grunt of acknowledgement on both occasions, before Draco's dangerous glare had sparked with firm threats. He knew well enough not to antagonize the man, but he could see his friend's isolation was becoming unhealthy and consuming.

"Probably not," he conceded with a troubled breath. "But I think I should anyway. I don't think I've seen him eat since he's been in there."

And he'd been in there for eleven days solid. It had taken five Healers and twenty-six hours to stabilise Hermione's condition, and Caleb had listened on the other side of the cubicle door as Malfoy had vomited until blood had spattered against the porcelain.

Then he'd heard Draco cast a silencing charm, and whatever happened in that lonely toilet cubicle was lost in the tiles. Caleb had left when he'd been told he could see Amelia, learning from Narcissa that her waning son had only left the bathroom once he'd been assured he could see his witch. He'd slammed the door behind him and not left since.

The next three days had been violently grave.

Hermione had suffered seizures in her coma; aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. Mediwizards had tried to remove Draco from the room but knew enough of the man's reputation to gather that the crooked angle of his aimed wand wasn't an empty gesture. Combine that with some reminders of his family's donations to the hospital, and his post at Hermione's bedside remained constantly warm.

From what Caleb had managed to obtain from various Healers, Hermione's wounds were healed and the seizures had subsided. It was now simply a waiting game for her to wake up; a game that Draco would not lose. They'd refused to give her any aids to stir her conscious, insisting that her body needed to recover naturally and she would rouse when ready.

But it was Draco he was concerned about. He could only imagine the sick thoughts swimming in his head.

Ron was blocking his empty view again.

"Sit down, Weasley," he spat, sending the ginger man an impatient look. "You're giving me a fucking headache-

"Nobody asked you," he retorted, his eyes settling on the door to Hermione's room. "This is stupid. Who is he to decide who gets to see her and when?"

"Leave it, Ron," Harry sighed, used to his friend's frustration on the matter. "Maybe you should see how he's doing, Warrington?"

"Who cares how Malfoy is doing?" Ron snapped, slumping into a free seat. "I want to see her-

"Then you'll have to wait," Potter mumbled, turning back to Caleb with an expectant look. "Warrington?"

He sighed and gave Amelia a peck on her cheek. "I'll be back in a moment."

Ron's sky-blue eyes tracked the man as he rose from his seat and left the small waiting area. "What are you playing at?" he asked Harry bluntly. "Malfoy's just doing this out of spite-

"No, he's not," the Auror shook his head sadly, giving his friend a long look. "You weren't there, Ron. Just trust me when I say it's best to leave him alone with 'Mione for now."

The redhead's nostrils flared, but his face relaxed a little. "Why are you suddenly on Malfoy's side?"

Harry's brow creased. "Because he's the reason she'll wake up."

.

* * *

.

Caleb warily pushed open the door, his eyes immediately falling to Granger. She was so still it unnerved him, like she was making no promises to wake any time soon. There was a fleshy gash on her arm, but otherwise she just looked like she was sleeping, her features slightly tense, like she was dragging through her dreams.

His curious stare slowly shifted to the hunched figure in the bedside chair, and his mouth bent with worry.

He'd never seen a human look so disturbed.

So haunted.

Draco's skin was grey and his face gaunt; silvery stubble lining his jaw like a misty shadow. His clothes were rumpled and creased, evidently lived in for too many restless nights. Too many hazardous hours. He was folded over, his elbows denting his thighs, and every muscle taught like inflating rubber that was just biding its time to rupture with roars of the damned.

His mouth was a sunken bow, stressed lines framing his dry lips like tree branches. His too-blond hair was ungroomed, showering around his face with splitting strands that shielded his eyes. For that, Caleb was grateful.

Beneath the scraggly fringe, Draco's stare was a hollow wreckage with cracks of fury splitting across the surface. They looked like dirty ice, littered with scrapes where the rage was threatening to burst through.

He looked like a ghost with too much strife to pass on, left to linger and pine.

Too lost.

Dead.

"Draco," he called, shifting his feet awkwardly. "Have you eaten anything?"

The movement was minimal, but Caleb spotted it. Just a small bob of his head, but now he could see his spooked stare, focussed solely on Hermione.

"Do you need anything?" he continued.

No response.

"She looks better," he commented, trying a different approach with no success. "Maybe you should take a walk or something, Draco?"

His eyes flickered with impatience, and Caleb knew he was adding sparks to the to the delicate time-bomb in Draco's head. He sighed in defeat, but decided to try one last thing before he completely surrendered to the silence.

"Amelia's pregnant," he stated proudly, a grin dying to steal his lips. "I just thought you'd like to know."

Draco's mouth twitched at the corner, but nothing leaked out, so the dark-haired man turned to leave.

"Congratulations," a tired mumble stopped him, the voice wavering with fatigue and inactivity. But it was sincerely stoic, and more than Caleb had expected.

"Thank you," he replied, switching his body to regard his friend again. He hesitated, toying with his next words in his brain. "You know, she will be fine, Draco."

His lids fell, and his lips parted to rid a significant breath.

"Tell that ginger troll to keep his voice down," he commented quietly, but it held a dose of Draco's familiar bite. "And if he sets one foot in this room, I'll have him shitting shrapnel for a month."

Caleb's smirk was his first in days, and he relished it. With a pleased nod, he left the room, satisfied that Draco wasn't broken. Damaged perhaps; chipped and a little grazed. But not broken.

Repairable.

Back in his welcome solitude, the blond slowly raised a weak hand to massage his throbbing temple. Arching his back to ease his stiff muscles, a drum-roll of clicks rattled up his spine. He had not left the chair except to use the bathroom and take three very quick showers. The Healers brought him food, settling it silently next to him so he could pick at it when the hunger breached the numbness.

His lover had been given a bigger room this time, complete with a personal bathroom and an untouched spare bed. But the bed was too far away from her, so he remained confined to the chair, even sleeping in it with his head propped against his knuckles.

But he'd barely managed twenty hours sleep in the last twelve days anyway.

He would not have her wake up to find him snoozing like some fickle twat, and the vexing images that plagued his subconscious didn't help. So, he stayed in the chair, indifferent to the scratchy material as he did nothing but watch her.

Stare at her.

Transfixed by the rises and falls of her chest. They'd been steady for a few days now, no longer fluctuating like windswept seas. He cringed as he remembered her seizures. Watching her body spasm uncontrollably and Healers binding her to the bed was an image that would strain his psyche well into the afterlife.

So he just stared at her; hour upon hour with silent pleas for her to flash him her honey-dew eyes.

Just stared. Not touched.

It had been made painfully clear to him that everything he touched wilted like winter willows.

His thoughts were a dangerous concoction.

He'd thought of his father and Blaise's revelation of his Muggle-born killer. A part of him had actually wished it would make his feelings for Hermione alter, knowing it would probably make this situation less painful.

But no. She was the part of him that felt valid. Real.

And as much as he wanted to reject the notion, his father had deserved his death. Be it from Death Eater or Muggle-born, the man had been lucky to live as long as he had. He had knowingly placed his mother and himself in jeopardy with his dealings with Voldemort, and if there was one thing he knew about himself now, it was that he could never do that to Hermione.

His feelings for his father and his death had been confronted, and they did not change. End of.

His mind had stormed over Blaise's betrayal, and he'd come to the conclusion that it would simply take time before he would fully understand that. He felt nothing towards the man. Not a thing. His rage was swarming around himself for being so blind and exposing his mother and Hermione to the vile wizard.

He wanted answers from Blaise, but they could wait.

His priority was her; and her alone.

He hadn't cried. Crying was for the mourning.

The Healers had assured him that her responses were good, meaning that the Cruciatus Curse hadn't left any lasting effects. Mentally or physically. They'd told him that four days ago. Or maybe it was nights. Time had become subjective and skittish in their silent cocoon. He only knew it was Friday because a Healer had checked on her earlier.

Night or day; it didn't really matter. The news had settled his stomach, and he hadn't choked on his bile since. The majority of his thoughts had blossomed over her; and he'd come to a calming and clawing conclusion. Her life was more important than his. It had sneaked up on him somewhere between their meetings in his office and where they were now.

He hadn't prepared for this, but it felt like him home.

He'd stop his heartbeats for her. Stop another's heartbeats for her. Anything.

Love.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

The movement was so small, he wondered if he'd simply imagined it. It wouldn't be the first time.

But it happened again, and he couldn't breath.

Slowly, like sunset, her lids lifted with countless mini-blinks before she was simply gazing at the ceiling. Her lips unsealed to draw in a healthy breath, accompanied by a divine moan that struck him motionless. If he moved it might break the spell...Might make her slip back into her two-dozen-day darkness...

She was still for what seemed like the thirteenth day, before a quivering name seeped out of her mouth.

"Draco?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I'm here," he mumbled quietly, warily allowing himself to look at her again.

Too slowly, her head tilted to find him and her syrupy stare latched onto his. He waited for her to say something, so convinced that he had finally lapsed into insanity and this too-good moment was the result.

"Come here," she requested, and he had no recollection of moving to the bed. He was at her side instantly, dying to touch her but knowing better. He took a moment just to study her; from the tips of her curls to the toffee flecks that skimmed her eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he rushed out, his slate-grey glare examining the slice on her arm.

"I'm tired," she mumbled softly, licking her lips. "How long have I been here?"

He frowned. "Twelve days."

"Twelve days," she echoed absently. And then her lips glided into a perfect smile, and he felt her dainty hand grasp around his. "I missed you."

His eyes dropped to his wrist, cuffed by her small fingers. His chest suddenly felt heavier and full, and he closed his eyes to relish the heat. He swallowed as he felt the vibrations of his core flicker to life, throbbing in his ears and against his ribcage. He was aching to touch her, his fingertips desperate to trace the outline of her lips, but he didn't dare.

He tried to pull his hand away but she gripped him tighter. "Don't do that," she whispered, and his eyes went back to her fascinating face. "Not again."

He managed to find his voice. "Do what?"

"Pull away from me," she said, her voice still recovering. She tilted her pillow-propped head and observed him with sad eyes. "Don't close off from me, Draco. _Please_ don't-

"Do you blame me?" he spat the words out quickly, his nose wrinkling with self-loathing and doubt. His voice voice turned gritty and cold. "I _am _to blame for this-

"Why would you-

"He was my friend," he mumbled, snatching his hand free to rub his face and hide his eyes. "And I didn't-

"Know," she finished for him, trying to settle his panicky movements. "You didn't know-

"But you did," he argued. "I didn't listen-

"And I didn't listen when you warned me about Montague," she sighed, trying to yank him closer. It was then she realised just how demolished he looked; tortured and derelict. "Put your hand on the bed."

"What?"

"Just do it," she breathed, watching him slowly comply. "Other way round," she told him, and his palm was displayed to her. She lightly stroked her fingers over the creases in his skin, and she could feel him tense. With a determined frown, she moved her gentle touches up his arm, lingering over his pulse-point before dipping into the fold by his elbow.

His sleeves were bunched up just under his biceps, and she skimmed over the greying-white fabric to rest her hand against the side of his throat. His pulse had quickened since she had thumbed his wrist, and she glanced up to find his eyes half-hidden and his face calmer, but still carved out of strained stone. With a private sigh, she cupped his prickly cheek, instantly feeling him lean into her gesture. A lonely tear crawled down her cheek as she carefully and _slowly_ guided his face closer to hers.

She sniffed and choked back a whine, fearing his rejection. "Can..." she stuttered, closing her eyes. "Can you kiss me please?"

His lids snapped open and his wild-ash stare was taking in every cell that belonged to her. He could never deny her. He'd never honestly been able to deny himself... His head jerked forward, his mind rich with the need to touch her. Taste her. He'd been starved of her for twelve days and it had left him forsaken and with trembling withdrawals. He paused and yielded to the itch in his thumb, running it across her bottom lip before he followed with his mouth.

Somewhere between a brush and a kiss. Somewhere between bliss and hell.

He was holding back, too aware of her barely-healed injuries. He was _too_ eager to inhale her; too lost in her texture. He pulled away, coaxing a disappointed sigh from her dampened lips.

"Again," she murmured, and he quickly complied, releasing some more of himself into her. But it was still too controlled. He went to pull himself away, but his ever-determined lover latched her small hands onto his face, holding him still.

With a couple of bold sucks and a headstrong scrape of her teeth, she was dragging everything out of him. Time was squandered again, leaving them to swallow each other and drown.

"It's okay," she mumbled between kisses, and he realised then that he was shaking. "It's alright."

She was combing her fingers through his hair, and suddenly he felt fatigue overpower him, weighing down his eyes and fogging his brain. Only she could do this. Only she could sedate the storm that thrived on his pain. Her pain too.

His body shifted to cover hers, and his head found its way to her chest, just lying there with his ear pressed against her. Her heartbeats serenaded him, reminding him she was fine. Perfect actually. She was perhaps a little scarred from her ordeal, but so was he.

Matching flaws that would heal with time.

"Do you remember everything?" he asked her, deciding that forgetting might be a luxury for her.

"I think so," she nodded, followed by a sudden gasp. "Oh God. Amelia-

"She's fine-

"Your mother-

"Everyone's fine," he told her, feeling her stiffen beneath him.

She released an uncertain breath. "And Blaise?"

He cringed. The name was poison staining her lips. "Zabini's in Azkaban," he stated simply, his tone even and stoic.

"Why did he-

"A Muggle-born killed his mother," he explained quickly, soothing her sides with rough hands. "Zabini was too trapped in his old ways."

"I'm sorry, Draco," she muttered.

"What for?"

"He was your friend," she offered, stroking loving circles over his forehead. "You must be-

"I don't want you talking about him," he said, his voice turning dark. "He almost killed you."

Her yielding breath stirred his platinum hairs. She couldn't win this one, and she was too tired to really try. "Tell me some good news," she requested with a faint mumble. She craved some positivity.

Draco eyebrows drew together in thought. Good news? All his attentions had been focussed on her for twelve days, leaving him completely oblivious to the world beyond her door. London could have burned to the ground and he wouldn't know. Or care, for that matter.

Something shoved its way into his brain though, and once again he found himself secretly thanking Caleb.

"Amelia's pregnant," he slurred, insomnia starting to snare his senses.

He couldn't see it, but he knew she had a weak smile on her face. He savoured the change in the air before fatigue stole him, allowing him to drift off into a sleep that was far from peaceful, but lasted nine hours.

.

* * *

.

It was the fifteenth day, and after two whole weeks confined to a white-walled hospital room, his witch had finally convinced him to return to the outside world. Weasley had only grown more agitated when a Mediwitch had let slip that that Hermione was conscious and had eventually barged himself into the room, followed by Potter, Caleb, Amelia and his mother.

And there would be more visitors on their way.

She was being discharged in two days, which left him just enough time to move their belongings to one of his family properties in Chelsea with some help from Caleb, Narcissa and her two House-elves. His mother had divulged in a little rant about 'a fresh start' but he'd paid her no heed, still too consumed with the hailstorm in his head.

Flicking his wand to settle down another box, it took him a moment to realise that Caleb was talking to him. That was the problem with coming back to reality; it felt completely out of focus. His ears felt stuffed and everything was hazy, like he was trying to catch up with it but failing miserably.

"What?"

"I said, we should break for a few minutes," Caleb mumbled, sleeving away some sweat on his forehead. "I'm going to make a cuppa. Do you want-

"Firewhiskey," Draco replied blankly, and Caleb gave him a stiff nod before he left the room, passing Narcissa who was on her way in.

"It's starting to take shape," she commented, eyeing the would-be bedroom with a forced smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he snapped too quickly, flinching when he opened the box and came across the book he'd given Hermione for Christmas. "I'm fine."

"I know about the letter the Ministry sent you," she started hesitantly, taking a seat on a groaning chair. "And I know you haven't replied."

"What of it?"

The witch sighed and gave her son a concerned look. "Don't you think it would be...beneficial to visit him?"

"What good could possibly come from it?" he muttered, the muscles of his face tightening.

"I think it would be good for you," she insisted, ignoring the harsh look he was sending her. "I think you need to talk to him and find some closure-

"Do you honestly believe that I would be able to contain my temper?" he spat darkly. "There would be no _talking_, mother."

Her lip twitched. "You need to meet with him and do what is necessary for you," she said calmly, leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder. "Or you will regret it-

"My only regret is ever having that _fuck_ anywhere near us," he hissed, bringing up a hand to massage his temple."I can't believe I ever trusted him-

"We all trusted him," she said softly. "Don't feel guilty, Draco-

"I can't see him now, mother," he interrupted, clenching his fists and clicking his jaw. "I'm not..." he trailed off to exhale. "I wouldn't be able to control myself. Maybe in a few days, but not now. I just want some peace and I'm sure Hermione wants the same."

She nodded in understanding and gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "I'm very proud of you, you know," the older Malfoy confessed. "You saved her life, and Amelia's-

"I put them in jeopardy in the first place-

"No, you didn't," she disputed. "You're the only one who thinks that and if you went to see-

"I don't need you telling me what I should fucking do."

"Okay," Narcissa breathed, grimacing at his clipped tone. "I just thought that asking Blaise questions would give you some peace of mind-

"I will do it when I'm ready," he finalised, brushing her hand away and returning to the boxes. "In the meantime, I'm happy to let the guards start breaking him down."

"I'm not sure the guards-

"You underestimate the effect of a Malfoy donation, mother," he scowled, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "I can assure you that he is being taken care of appropriately. And don't you dare mention that to Hermione."

"I see," she nodded slowly, reluctantly relieved that he seemed a little more like himself after that comment. "So, when-

"When I'm certain I won't kill him."

.

* * *

.

The spare bed remained unused.

She was gathered tightly to his chest; her sleepy breaths humming across the grooves of his collarbone. He could still taste berries and affection on his lips from her calming kisses, but it was starting to fade. She'd been asleep for a few hours now, and he had done nothing but watch the twitches of her features in the dim light.

He didn't want to leave her, but he had to. It was almost four in the morning and he didn't have much time.

Giving her brow a small peck, he carefully slipped himself out of the hospital bed, adjusting the sheets so she wouldn't lose any warmth. She moaned and shifted, but remained lost in whatever images her subconscious had cooked up for the night. He ensured his hasty movements were quiet before ducking out of the room and almost starting when he caught sight of the solitary figure waiting just outside.

"Fucking hell," Draco barked, shooting the other man a suspicious look. "What in Merlin's are you-

"I had a feeling you might go tonight," Caleb explained, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "I'll keep an eye on her while you're gone."

"What about-

"Amelia's visiting her parents to tell them the news," he supplied with a hint of pride to his tone. "I figured you would be a little reluctant to leave her alone and you shouldn't rush this."

Draco frowned, but the lines of his face weren't hard or cold. Hermione was leaving hospital tomorrow morning, and Caleb had spent the whole day helping him finish the house, so he knew the man must be tired.

"Why would you-

"Bloody hell," Caleb muttered, rolling his bored eyes. "Look, Draco, stop questioning everything I do. You're a mate, and I'm doing you a favour. Now sod off before I change my mind."

The paler wizard felt his first smirk in weeks pull at the corners of his mouth. Giving his companion a grateful nod, he headed down the corridor and left St. Mungo's.

Azkaban was precisely how he remembered it; built with the same bricks and echoing with the same screams he'd witnessed when his father had stayed here. But at least there were no Dementors this time around. Just an odd combination of men, goblins and giants made up the staff now, but at least some of the wizards were still corrupt enough to accept a bribe here and there.

Giving one of the senior guards a brisk nod, he was guided into a room that felt humid and smelled of age. The black-brick space was illuminated by a few fragile candles that drew his eyes to the human shackled to the opposite wall. The sinister section of Draco's brain, that had yet to be soothed by Hermione's presence, enjoyed the image of the demolished man he had once called a friend. He would have to tip the guards on his way out.

Blaise Zabini's dark skin was now decorated in a hundred colours, ranging from plum-skin purple to peachy yellows. His face was swollen, and his prison clothes were shredded like he had lost a battle with a bramble bush. Part of his torso was exposed, and Draco could see a long gash splitting his stomach in half, looking close to septic after a half-arsed attempt to dress the wound. One of his legs was crooked and one of his arms looked like it had been broken and then set incorrectly, his elbow misplaced and stretching his skin in an odd place.

Good.

"I was wondering when you would come," he wheezed, and Draco wondered if one of his lungs was damaged. It certainly sounded that way. "Miss me, Malfoy?"

The blond bared his teeth and took a couple of steps further into the room. "You look like shit," he stated calmly, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's just get this over with, Zabini-

"You're here to ask some questions, I assume?" Blaise asked, his breathing too unsteady to pull off haughty. "Let's have them then."

"Why did you bother sending me a letter when you knew I was with Granger?" he asked, his tone deceptively professional.

"To try and bring you to your senses," he answered as though it was obvious, giving Draco a look of genuine disgust. "Look at you. That fucking Mudblood has turned you into a snivelling, love-sick fool-

"Don't call her-

"People used to fear you in Hogwarts," he went on, snarling and spitting like a rabid mongrel. "You used to be someone. Now you're just that Mudblood's bitch-

"I'm warning you-

"YOU'RE A FUCKING DISGRACE!" he screamed, and then coughed in pain. "We were never meant to coexist; them and us. She should be dead-

"_YOU_ SHOULD BE DEAD!" Draco countered loudly, drawing his wand. "I should have killed you on the spot-

"But you didn't! Didn't even kill Montague for trying to _rape _her. That how weak you are-

"Shut your fucking mouth-

"Because you're a coward," Blaise spat, his voice low. "Nothing but a pointless, little twat-

"I am TWICE the man that you are-

"You have no spine!" he yelled, flinching in pain again. "Voldemort was right about them. They are vermin, and you went and fell for one. Your father would have killed you on the spot-

"_Crucio!_"

His former friend's screams echoed in the dark chamber; the vibrations flickering the candles' flames. Draco held the spell until Blaise twitched violently and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. That had felt good. Too good. He lowered his wand and watched the dark wizard quake and snivel like a wounded rat.

"G-get on with it," he stuttered, a powerful spasm rocking his body. "Kill me-

"_Don't _tempt me," Draco seethed between his teeth.

"That's why you c-came here, isn't it?" he questioned, his voice breaking. "To end all this-

"Shut UP, Blaise-

"Go on!" he goaded, and Draco's wrist moved automatically to angle his wand. "There's no one here, and we both knew you could buy yourself an alibi!"

His wand arm straightened.

"Come on, Draco," Blaise flashed his teeth, and they were blood-red. "You know you want to! It's in your blood-

"_STOP IT-_

"Come on!"

He felt the magic in his body shift; sparking in his veins and travelling to his fingertips.

_He deserves it..._

"Go on, Malfoy!"

_Just a quick spell..._

"Do it, Draco!"

_No..._

"DO IT, DRACO!"

"NO!" he shouted, growling deep in his throat and dealing a swift kick to Blaise's septic wound. "I am _nothing _like you! I will not kill! But I want you to rot in here until you're not even human. Until someone has to wipe the fucking dribble off your cheek and wipe the shit from your arse." He paused to walk closer to the weak man. "Death is too easy."

He kicked the gash again. Harder. Blaise coughed up a clot of bile and blood, and Draco felt something close to satisfaction settle in his chest.

"Why did you pretend to be my friend for all that time?" he asked quickly.

This was the question he had wanted to ask. Why the betrayal? Why even bother involving him at all?

"I-I am done with your questions," Blaise gargled, spitting out some more blood.

"Fine," he snapped, turning to leave. "Then we will do this until you are too _fucked _in the head to argue. You will see me again, Zabini. _Crucio!_"

He only held the spell for a few seconds; just to see the fear flash across the repulsive man's stare.

Without a backwards glance, he left the small chamber, slamming the door behind him. The guard was still waiting outside and Draco gave him a grim look, digging into his pocket to retrieve a heavy pouch that chimed with Galleons.

"Do what you want," the Malfoy heir demanded curtly, pushing the pouch into the guard's hand. "But I want him on the verge of death. Will you be able to arrange similar visits like these in the future?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," he replied.

"Good," he grinned, clicking his knuckles. "I'll see you in a few months."

.

* * *

.

When he returned to St. Mungo's it was around seven in the morning, and he found Caleb loyally waiting at his post, looking a little tired but otherwise indifferent. "Feel better?" he inquired when he caught sight of the pale wizard, who looked somewhere between tortured and salvaged.

"Slightly," Draco shrugged cryptically, his gaze instantly falling to Hermione's room. "Is she still asleep?"

"I assume so," the dark-haired man answered, rising from his seat. "I'm going home to get some rest-

"Caleb," the blond called before he could disappear down the corridor. "I will never be able to repay you for everything you've done."

"I wouldn't ask you to," he told his fellow Slytherin. "It's what friends do, Draco."

_Friends..._

"Thank you," he muttered before his pride could stop him, receiving a knowing nod from the other man before he continued his exit. Releasing a breath to shift the remains of his frustration, he slipped into the room as silently as he could; but she stirred anyway and he frowned with disappointment.

"Draco?" she mumbled, her voice laden with fatigue as she glanced around for him. "Is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm here," he told his witch, his legs instantly guiding him towards her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her confused eyes watching him closely. "Where have you been?"

He hesitated. "I'll tell you later," he said quietly, sitting on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Excited," she murmured, gracing him with one those morning smiles that always defeated him as she stretched her arms above her head. "We get to go home today."

"Don't get your hopes up," he advised. "It's still not completely finished-

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she stopped him, reaching up to sigh her fingers across his cheek. "Come back to bed, Draco. It's cold."

He didn't argue.

After losing his clothes, he settled himself next to his lover and pulled her as close as possible. Her lively curls were soft against his cheek and he inhaled her scent as she tickled the base of his spine with lazy fingers.

"You know I feel about you, don't you?" he asked her suddenly, his lips ghosting devoted pecks across her forehead.

"You love me," she stated with happiness heavy in her breath. "And I love you."

He clutched her a little tighter and she moaned against his shoulder. "I need you to understand that you might not agree with some of the things I do in the future...But I do them for us."

She released a heavy breath that roused the small hairs on his skin. "I trust you," she said finally, feathering her lips across his throat. "I know things haven't been easy-

"They've been bloody shit-

"But it will be easier now," she soothed, pulling back to steal his eyes. "We can go home today-

"It's not a home," he argued, his stormy eyes unsettled and burdened. "It's just a house-

"Then we will make it a home,"she told him, with that familiar determination that calmed his mind.

His expression was sceptical so she reached up to brush some of his fringe away from his brow, and then balm his mouth with a lingering kiss that ached her chest. In one of his rare submissive moments that would dissipate quickly, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and allowed her to stroke his hair and whisper words of warmth in his ear.

Only she would see this side of him.

Only she was capable of coaxing normality back into their world.

"It's okay," she consoled, taking advantage of the precious privacy. "It's over now."

.

* * *

.

a/n: And it is...Over I mean...Well, except the Epilogue...

I'm going to be honest with you...I cried writing certain parts of this story because now it's over, I feel a little forlorn...My first Dramione fic...It's all grown up! And you've all been just so wonderful with your words of encouragement and I wish I could thank each of you appropriately...so here's hoping your metaphorical angel outfits suffice!

I hope the ending was satisfying and none of you hate me...

The Epilogue will be up shortly, and will resolve things with Blaise...It just didn't make sense for me to ram it all in to one chapter. Things like that would take time, in my opinion, and I hope you agree. It will be up soon!

For the 220+ who have favourited this story and for the 350+ that have alerted it, thanks to you for your interest! But to the people who have reviewed...You are bloody brilliant and have made me laugh and cry and blush from the tips of my toes! I wish I could throw a little party for you at a hired Manor with a Harry Potter theme! That would be awesome...sigh...

My next story is called **Isolation **and I've decided to play with the younger Draco for that one (Play with Draco..drool...) and it's going to be set post HBP. I'll say more about it in the Epilogue.

Anyway...As always, there's been energy drinks, cigarettes and enough wine to drown a small country! Read and Review please.

Until the Epilogue, lovelies!


	36. Stars

**HUNTED**

~.~

Epilogue: Stars

.

Little Shelly Warrington was a wonderful mixture of her parents, complete with her mother's baby-blue eyes and her father's chocolate hair. Draco cocked an eyebrow at the two-and-a-half-year-old girl as she waddled on her learning legs around his sitting room, moving away from her father's ever-protective presence to give Hermione a curious look.

"Big," she quipped in her little voice, pointing a chubby finger at her godmother.

"Well, she's not wrong there."

Draco's eyes shifted to his witch on the opposite sofa as she started to laugh, placing her delicate hand over her swollen stomach and giving the child a fond look.

He wanted to sigh with relief.

Hermione was currently going through a very bitchy stage of her pregnancy and had been ready to _Avada _him less than two hours ago when he'd pointed out that yet _another _jumper didn't fit her properly. A foolish mistake, he knew, but it had just slipped out. Fearing for his own life, he had insisted that Amelia and Caleb come over with their daughter, knowing his imminent murder was less likely with some witnesses around.

If there was one thing he'd learned about pregnancy, it was that men were fucked from day one.

There were millions of books dedicated to preparing women for the inevitable hormones and symptoms, but he had yet to find a manual directing _men_ how to deal with them.

The craving stage had been alright, although there was something very unsettling about watching your lover create vile concoctions consisting of bacon and chocolate or custard-covered chips. After a few weeks of some odd-tasting kisses, her unnerving eating habits had settled down, although she had a consistent fetish with marmalade; a conserve which she had previously hated.

The crying stage had been draining, and Draco had taken to hiding that remote control thing to save Hermione tearing up over RSPCA adverts and anything else that had slight dose of peril. He'd even been forced to take a few days off when she'd started weeping about his departures for work in the mornings.

The horny stage, cruelly the shortest of all the stages, had been bloody genius. His advice for any future fathers would be to not get led into a false sense of excitement. The sex had been anywhere and everywhere for all of two weeks, before she'd landed in the angry stage. Convinced that she would still be reasonably randy one morning, he had stirred her awake with hopes of a quickie before work, and she had promptly bitten off his head.

He'd locked her wand in a cupboard one particularly bad night; just to be safe.

He eyed her now with a sense of complete wonder. She was almost ripe and ready, and when she had a smile on her face like she did now, it suited her perfectly. He eyed the antique ring on her finger and managed to halt the look of affection that threatened to steal his features. She was chatting merrily with Amelia while Shelly continued her little journey towards the two Muggle-borns and was hoisted into her mother's lap.

He reluctantly turned away when he felt Caleb nudge his arm. "Fifty Galleons says your first born ends up in Gryffindor," he muttered quietly.

Draco scowled and looked back at his goddaughter, who was now spreading her palms across Hermione's hard abdomen while Amelia tried to explain that there was a baby inside.

"One hundred Galleons says Shelly will be in Hufflepuff," he retorted snidely, shaking the offered hand with a firm tug. "You'd better remember this in nine years."

"Boy?" Shelly asked suddenly, and Draco snapped his eyes back over to the three females.

"We don't know yet, angel," Hermione explained slowly. "You can see in two weeks."

"Are you getting any feelings about what it might be?" Amelia questioned with a knowing smile, absently stroking her daughter's hair.

"Well, I think it's a girl," the witch replied, locking eyes with him. "But Draco's adamant that it's a boy-

"Because he _is_ a boy," he spoke up, giving her a confident look. "I bet you fifty Galleons."

"I'm not going to place a bet on our unborn child!" she snapped angrily, missing the disconcerted look shared between the two men. "Anyway, no. I don't really believe in all that rubbish about high belly means boy or whatever it is."

"And what about names?" Amelia continued. "Have you thought of any yet?"

"Well," the other witch breathed. "Draco wants to keep his family tradition with using astronomy, and I really like that idea. Only problem is, the boy names are rather limited. I like Thuban, and it's actually in Draco, which I think is quite cool-

"It's an effing horrible name," Draco frowned, knowing to mind his language around Shelly after a fair bit of practice. "I don't understand what's wrong Scorpius-

"That name borders on child cruelty," she backfired quickly, having fought this argument several times in the previous weeks. "Especially because the baby might actually be a Scorpio."

"What about girl names?" the other witch cut in, recognising the beginnings of a pregnancy-induced argument when she saw one.

"We agreed on Lyra," Hermione sighed, leaning back into the couch with a heavy moan. "I would kill for a glass of wine right now."

Draco smirked at her comment, but it faltered when he felt something nuzzle against his calf, and a feline whine stole his attention. Shelly's excitement was instant and she struggled out of her mother's hold and made a beeline for the ginger pet.

"He probably wants food," his fiancée offered, and he noted the fatigue to her voice. "Take Shelly with you, Draco. You know she loves feeling him."

"Alright," he grunted, rising from his seat. "Come on, Shelly," he called, keeping a close eye on the little witch as she followed him and the cat into the kitchen.

Despite the upcoming birth of his own child, he was still a little awkward around his goddaughter, and was content to let Hermione lavish her with devotion on his behalf. He handed Shelly a small pouch of treats and observed her as she fell into the usual routine; sitting cross-legged on the floor and hand-feeding Crookshanks with innocent giggles and awed eyes.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter; frowning when a wave of unsettling notions washed over him. And not for the first time. The closer Hermione's due-date had crept up on him, the more inadequate and unprepared he'd felt. Becoming a godfather had been daunting enough, so Merlin knew how he'd cope with being a father.

Studying the two-year-old, he recalled how quickly he had felt protective and aware of her well-being. He would join Caleb on a dangerous rampage if anyone ever laid a finger on the girl, but that wasn't enough. He was pretty certain that children required affection, and that was certainly not his strong point.

Then again, Caleb was hardly a softy, and he was a bloody brilliant father. If his kid adored him as much as Shelly adored Caleb; he'd be a very fortunate man.

"Baby soon," the dark-haired toddler stole his thoughts, and he glanced down to find her looking at him expectantly. With a brief chuckle, he crouched down so he was level with her, and she tilted her head to regard him with smiling eyes.

"Yes," he nodded slowly, giving her hair a small ruffle. "Baby soon."

.

* * *

.

"Ow," Hermione groaned quietly, running her soothing palms across her taut abdomen. "Fidgety little bugger, aren't you?"

"Are you talking to me?" her fiancé called from the en suite, his voice loud above the shower's low rumble.

"No," she replied, carefully settling herself down on the bed and indulging in some calming breaths. She heard the humming water die and Draco entered their bedroom with a towel low on his hips. She chewed her lower lip and eyed the forever enticing lines of his torso, decorated with welcoming droplets that made her thirsty. But another twinge in her stomach stole her lusty notions.

"Are you alright?" he questioned when she flinched, at her side in a heartbeat. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she told him steadily. "Someone's just a little restless tonight-

"I'm taking you to St. Mungo's-

"Don't be silly," she scolded, taking his hand and resting it against her lively bump. "See, everything's fine. She's just moving a lot-

"_He's _moving a lot," he argued, spreading his palm a little wider.

"We'll see," the witch grinned, giving his mouth a quick suck. "Can you pass me my notes please? Maybe that will distract me."

He rolled his eyes with agitation but complied anyway, knowing it was never wise to dispute a pregnant witch who could reach her wand. He supposed he was lucky. At least she was working on equality issues now, having resigned her Auror position; something he was infinitely grateful for. Now she happily flitted between her S.P.E.W work and her own offices that dealt with equal opportunities for Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. She had other projects too, and he often wondered how she managed to keep everything on track.

But she seemed happy, and that was good enough for him

He just wished she would take a break from her usual bookish character, but that was obviously too much to ask.

"Don't give me that look," she warned. "I don't want to fall behind-

"You're on maternity leave," he reminded her, resting his hand back against her stomach before he heard her sniff. He shifted his eyes to find her giving him one of her strange looks. Again. "What?"

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," she mumbled, settling her palm over his knuckles. "It's just-

"The bloody hormones," he finished for her, smirking when her stomach vibrated again. "Yes, I know."

_Ow, ow, ow, ow-_

"Ow," she hissed, expelling a shuddering breath. "I'm not going to get much sleep tonight."

He frowned. "I'm leaving early in the morning," he told her evenly, but he knew she could see his unease.

"You're going to see him again." It wasn't a question. Not an accusation either. "It's been three years, Draco-

"I know you don't like it-

"I don't have to like it," she retorted quickly. "I just don't understand what you're trying to gain. He's answered most of your questions-

"It's not enough," he muttered bitterly, but his fingers moved to give her hard stomach a slow stoke. "This will be the last one. After he's born, I will never go back. I promise."

It seemed to satisfy her, as she graced him with a grateful smile. "Thank you," she breathed, and then gave his arm a playful slap. "But stop saying _he_."

"It's a boy," he affirmed. "I know it is."

"About the boy names," she said calmly, and he watched a rather serene expression grace her features. "How about Caelum?"

He tilted his head and contemplated her for a moment. "Is that a star?"

"It's a constellation actually," she corrected quickly, and he recognised that studious tone with a weary sigh. "Not a well-known one, I'll admit; but it's there. It's in the southern sky and I'm pretty sure it's by Pictor and Columba, although I could be-

"Granger," he cut in, giving her a dull look.

"Sorry," she nibbled her lip, giving him a hopeful look and covering his hand a bit more. "So, what do you think?"

"Caelum Malfoy," he tested, giving her round bump a thoughtful grin.

"You like it," she beamed at him, evidently enjoying her victory. "I can tell. So do we have our boy name?"

"I guess we do."

.

* * *

.

He hated leaving her when she was still sleeping, and the guilt followed him all the way to Azkaban. The baby had continued to restlessly squirm for the majority of the night, and while he had managed to steal a broken five hours sleep, he was pretty certain that she'd barely been resting an hour when he'd left.

"You look like shit," the familiar guard commented as he marched down the gloomy corridor.

"The kid's already giving us trouble with our sleeping patterns," Draco shrugged, stifling a yawn.

"I didn't know she'd had the baby-

"She hasn't," he frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets as the usual chill started to coil around him. "Is he already in there?"

"Yes, he's inside," the guard nodded, gesturing to the door with a bored expression. "Go ahead."

With a small bob of his blond head, Draco shouldered the door open and marched into the room to give the sole resident his custom scowl. Zabini barely lifted his head to acknowledge him, but then he could hardly do anything these days.

They'd stopped shackling him to the wall now. Instead, he was magically bound to a chair, although Draco had to wonder how necessary the restraints were.

The truth was, Blaise wasn't a harm to _anything _any more. Neither use nor ornament.

After years of constant and brutal beatings, Blaise's body had finally given up and stopped responding to healing spells. Both of his legs were paralysed; one infinitely cracked at an unnatural angle that Draco had caused himself. His arms were in a similar state, only able to move sluggishly, and one was wedged back awkwardly after his shoulder had been permanently dislocated. Again, by Draco.

The dark skin of his face was malformed with scattered scars and violent dents, and his black hair was crested with premature, grey flicks. He was frail from long periods of intentional starvation and sleep deprivation punishments, and one of his eyes had turned milky with blindness.

He was fractured. Broken. A demi-human whose body would never function properly again, and Draco knew the mind was just a string-snap away from dying too.

Good.

This was Draco's art. A Malfoy Masterpiece.

An odd conglomeration of pride, anger and disappointment always flooded him whenever he looked at it, and today would be the last time. For that reason, he allowed himself a few moments just to examine it, allowing reminiscent memories to mate with the relevant scars.

Blaise had bled the truth eventually. All the details had been noted and locked away with the case file. Blaise's involvement with the _Vendetta Movement _had been explored and the attacks in Europe had been dealt with. His business in the Quidditch Industry had allowed him to travel with relative ease, and it had sobered Draco to learn that even his connection to him had made things a little simpler.

_That _had been the reason for their pseudo-friendship. _That _had been the reason Blaise had kept him close with false loyalties. He'd even confessed to hopes that Draco would eventually be seduced by the old pureblood ideals.

"Do you remember the last time I came to visit?" he asked the condemned man slowly.

"Yes," came the wavering reply. "A few weeks ago."

It had been four months ago; a further indication of his diminishing psyche.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"You gave me this scar," he answered, moving his quaking hand to point at a large line across his cheek. "And this one-

"Do you remember what I told you?" Draco snapped out harshly; impatience crowning his features.

"About Granger's pregnancy?" he confirmed with a bored drawl. "Yes, I recall almost choking on my own vomit-

"Enough," the pale wizard frowned, dragging the tips of his fingers through his hair. "You should have learned not to wind me up by now-

"Well, the entertainment options in this place are a little lacking-

"It was four months," he interrupted. "I was last here four months ago."

A defeated and resigned look smothered Blaise's face; oddly enhanced by his mutilated flesh. He knew what was coming. He knew his sanity was splitting; melting like summer ice.

"Why do you still come here, Malfoy?" he asked steadily. "I have answered your questions-

"And the answers weren't satisfying," Draco scowled, inhaling a dousing breath. "I come here to watch the show."

"Get on with it then."

"Not today," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Not this time-

"And what exactly is so special about this time?" he questioned, an incessant spasm snapping his head to the side.

"It's the last," Draco said simply, studying the confused look that flashed across the prisoner's face. "I won't be back after today."

Panic mingled with the confusion, and for a moment Blaise looked like a forgotten child."Why?"

"Because I'm going to be a father," he stated, a warm flame flickering in his stomach as he said the words aloud. "And fathers don't torture people-

"Yours did-

"Then that's all the more reason why I won't!" he spat, a threatening snarl playing with his lips. "I have done what I wanted to do to you. Fucking look at you! You are nothing! Your body has given up and your mind will follow shortly-

"This is who you are, Malfoy," the failing wizard said with some difficulty. "You can try to play happy families with Granger all you like but I am living proof that you have some evil left-

"Not evil," Draco disputed coldly. Adamantly. "I am fucking human. I have done what is necessary; what you deserve-

"And all for the love of a Mudblood," Blaise frowned, taking a long breath that made him wince.

Draco's nails cut into his palms as he considered giving the man the back of his hand. But no.

"You will never see me again," he promised coldly, and with a parting growl he left.

He would never know that his visits had provided Blaise with a sense of routine, and without that, he finally slipped into a mental state that was beyond the realms of help. And the guards ignored it and allowed his brain to shrivel and weep with hopeless insanity.

.

* * *

.

Draco went for a long walk before he went back to work; strolling an unfamiliar path just to ease the final sinister thoughts that always seemed to linger after a meeting with Zabini. That was one of the perks of being head of his department, plus Caleb was more than capable of holding the fort until he returned. He figured it was around ten in the morning now, meaning he'd only missed an hour anyway. If anything, it was normal.

And normality was a luxury.

While his job was far from dull as he still had to deal with plenty of dark wizards, and he had quickly settled into a life with an appropriate amount of excitement. A life that felt the closest thing to normal he would ever get.

Everything seemed _normal_ at the Ministry as he walked the customary corridors and passed the usual faces. It was perhaps a little quieter than he'd expected but the patterns of the Ministry fluctuated like uneven tides, and that was part of the reason why he enjoyed working here. Stepping into his department, he frowned when he checked Caleb's office to find it empty. He was about to question some of his other staff about his whereabouts when his friend burst into the room looking like he'd just returned from a seven-day Quidditch match.

"Where-where the fuck have you been?" he panted wildly. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"What the bloody hell-

"Hermione's gone into labour."

Draco's lungs expanded and his knees threatened to give. He'd heard the words, but his brain was refusing to grasp them.

"Shit," he muttered, just as his limbs started to move again. Then he was sprinting. "Where-

"St Mungo's!" Caleb shouted ahead, his legs burning to keep up with Draco's adrenaline. "Amelia's with her-

"Fuck!" he yelled, shoving aside a rather weedy wizard as he stampeded towards the Floo Network. "She's two weeks early!"

"Are you honestly surprised that yours and Granger's first child is impatient?"

His friend couldn't help the sarcastic jibe as they finally caught sight of the fireplaces, but Draco barely heard him. His nerves and urgency were misting his senses to the point that nothing felt real. Not even close. Just an awful blur that swirled around him as he palmed the powder and screamed the hospital's name.

The green flames swallowed him whole.

He knew the way to the maternity wing. He'd been there when Shelly had been born. His legs carried him; his muscles scorching with his frantic pace. He caught sight of Amelia talking to a Mediwitch and he felt his chest blaze with dread when he saw the sombre look on their faces.

"Where is she?" he snapped with a shuddering breath.

Amelia gave him a long look. "Draco-

"Where the _fuck _is she?"

"Mr Malfoy," the other witch cut in, and he studied her with condescending eyes. "Miss Granger is inside-

"Let me see her!" he demanded. "_Now!"_

"I'm sorry but we can't-

"What the hell-

"Mr Malfoy," she breathed wearily. "We've had a couple of complications-

"Complications?" he echoed, glancing at Amelia, who gave him a sad nod.

"The baby has breached-

"You need to let me in there-

"But we have things under control-

"LET ME INTO THE FUCKING ROOM!"

"Mr Malfoy," the Mediwitch gave him a anxious but steady stare. "I need you to understand that the Healers can't have you inside-

"And I need _you _to understand that that's my fiancée in there!" he screamed, glaring down at the older witch. "She needs me right now-

"She's doing fine," the witch insisted, nervously tucking a greying hair behind her ear. "Everything is going well, but it's going to be a while. I'll come find you if anything changes."

Whatever he would have said simmered away on the surface of his tongue. Taking advantage of his silence, the Mediwitch fled from his sight and he was left alone with a severe sense of helplessness. He couldn't see her. Could do nothing to help her. And there were complications. _Complications._ He felt anger spark inside him, but it fizzled when a small hand tugged at his fingers.

He hadn't even realised Shelly had been with her mother.

She cocked her head and pouted her lips. "Smile," she said, a little clumsily with her youth.

He stared at the little girl for a moment before his eyes shifted to the married couple, both watching him with concern and uncertainty. He stumbled back and dropped into one of the waiting chairs, his face falling into his palms.

A thought clouded his mind, and he concentrated until his temple felt bruised, even though he had sworn to Hermione that he would never do this. He forced himself into his lover's mind and had a second to drown in her panic and fear before he felt her shove him away.

But her fear had scarred his brain.

_I love you. _

He had no idea if she'd received his mental message.

He knew all the rooms had silencing charms, but he would swear until the day he died that the vibrations of her screams reached him and goaded shivers to slither up his spine.

.

* * *

.

It had been nine hours. It was almost ten at night, and still nothing. Just left to wait and just fucking _guess _what was going on.

Potter, his Weasley wife and her infuriating brother had come along now. It had taken every last sigh of his control not to throttle her two useless friends, but he had managed to reign in his throbbing fists.

He hadn't left the chair.

He felt someone sit next to him and instantly knew it was his mother. She smelled of the Manor, and he offered her an agitated glimpse of acknowledgement. His ribcage was too heavy with lead to spare her anything more.

"You know," she mumbled, placing a maternal palm on his shoulder. "The same thing happened when you were born. You hadn't turned completely and you took twelve hours-

"So it's another curse of being a Malfoy?" he spat harshly, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"I'm trying to tell you that everything will be alright," she explained. "These things happen quite often-

"Just leave me be," he commanded, his tone low and foreboding.

He could see she was about to offer more words of hollow comforts so he shrugged away her hand and shot up from his seat. Stalking away from the small crowd that had started to gather, he let his feet usher him down the long and too-clean corridors until he shoved himself into an empty room and headed straight for the window.

He chucked it open and leaned heavily against the sill, allowing the November breeze to dash across his skin. Hermione had been right; their first born was going to be a Scorpio.

He eyed the night's sky and studied the stars; his brow creased with burdens of a parent that had yet to know their child. He stared at the obvious constellations. Orion. Cancer. Taurus. They were all so irrelevant now; like someone had simply spilled sugar across the backs of his lids. Or perhaps the chalk-dust that had yet to shift from the blackboard.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open. Good thing too, even though he wouldn't admit it. Isolation tended to scratch at his brain until it bled dangerous notions.

"Caleb," he called dryly. "You were always a nerdy prick-

"Thanks-

"Which one is Lyra?" he questioned, gesturing his head towards the star-littered sky.

Caleb frowned but neared the window and searched for the familiar patterns. "Lyra's right next to yours," he muttered carefully, pointing his finger towards the night. "See that really bright star? That's Vega; it's Lyra's main star."

Draco's tormented stare lingered on that spot for a few moments before he released a frosty breath. "And where is Caelum?"

The other man stifled a groan. "Caelum's quite faint," he murmured, his eyes quickly shuffling across the hemispheres. "But it's there. See those two stars there? That's Eridanus, and Caelum is just underneath. Those four stars there."

"They are faint," he agreed, his lip twitching.

"She will be fine," Caleb stated in a tone that was deceptively confident. "And the baby."

.

* * *

.

It had been twelve hours now, and Draco found himself back in his seat, watching Shelly as she slumbered in her father's lap next to him. It was less claustrophobic now. The Potters and Weasleys had headed to the visitors' waiting room after Caleb had glared down the ginger growth and _advised _that they give Draco a little space.

He barely noticed when two Healers left Hermione's room, and the ageing Mediwitch was in his face again; this time with a promising smile that felt foreign amongst his negative thoughts.

"You can go and see them now," she told him. "Everything's fine."

He simply stared at her for a few heartbeats before his body was working on its own again. He wavered on clumsy and frenzied feet until he was in the room, and his apprehensive eyes immediately landed on her. He felt his insides knot and fold into a mess that hurt.

She was glittering with sweat; her breasts heaving in soothing waves as she sucked in the air with hungry gasps. She was flushed, with rosy stains glimmering across her skin, and her head lolled to the side, facing him. But here eyes were closed, and that stilled his steps. He didn't know why but he needed her to open them; to welcome and encourage him into the room.

And she did. They slowly fluttered open and smiled at him.

"Hey," she exhaled weakly, and he rushed to her side.

"Hey," he mumbled back, selfishly snatching her hand and clutching it tight. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by the Hogwarts Express," she confessed, lazily running her fingers across his jawline. "Have you seen him yet?"

Draco blinked. "Him?" he repeated, his eyes rounding into pebble-grey circles. "He's a boy?"

"Yes, he is," she grinned, adjusting herself into a sitting position. "You were right."

"Where is he?"

"Right here," she said with a ghost of a laugh, his confused but anxious stare following her guiding hand.

He noticed the small crib on the other side of her bed then, and he moved on hesitant feet towards it. His breaths stalled as he peered into the makeshift cradle and eyed the pinky flesh and wispy crown of blond hair. _His_ hair. Concealed securely in white fabric, he could only see his son's face and small fists as he fidgeted and made small whining noises; confirming that he was definitelyreal.

A newborn.

_His _newborn son.

Caelum.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, leaning a little closer. "This is weird."

"I know," he heard Hermione mumble, and he turned to catch her nibbling her lip with an excited glint in her gaze. "What's he doing?"

"Sleeping," he replied, looking back into the crib. "He's so fucking small-

"Draco-

"Effing small," he corrected quickly, lowering his eyebrows in thought as he moved a mindful finger out to brush over the baby's cheek.

"Well, he's a couple of weeks behind," she reminded him, stretching her back so she could see their child. "But he'll catch up. Bring him over here."

He shot her a sceptical look. "Am I okay to pick him up?"

"He's fine," she assured him. "Just mind his head."

Draco knew he was trembling a little, not trusting his hands to hold Caelum safely. His son's head easily fit into his palm as he concentrated solely on keeping his actions fluid and steady. He stayed still for a moment, just holding the light but significant weight before he gently eased his son into his fiancée's arms.

"I want another one," he rushed out, catching her eyes to show he was serious. "Maybe a couple more-

"What, like now?" she chuckled, tilting her head and beaming when Caelum slowly latched his miniature fist around her her small finger. He could honestly say she'd never looked more striking than she did right now. "I love you too by the way, even if you did use Legilimency on me-

"They wouldn't let me in-

"I know," she sighed, her smile, as always, forgiving. "Just...keep your promises in the future."

He knew she was talking about his visits to Blaise, and as his eyes absorbed his family, he knew that his one-time friend's name would never pass his lips again. Draco would erase him from his mind, until he was nothing more than the whispers of a memory that could never be reached.

"I love you," he told her sternly, feathering his fingers across the thin hairs on his son's head. He didn't tell her often; hardly ever in fact, but it seemed appropriate, and he wanted to make sure she knew before the hoard of well-wishers barged their way in.

"I know you do," she whispered, leaning up to indulge in a desperate kiss, that was quickly interrupted by a baby's sob.

He felt her smirk against his lips as Caelum Malfoy released his first healthy cries.

"You'd better get used to this."

.

* * *

.

a/n: Um...so yeah...that's it...bugger me...I hope it was okay...Feeling a little forlorn right now...

Hmmm...This is odd...Just over five months and it's finished. But this has been such a great experience for me and I just want to thank everyone who favourited and alerted, but mainly thank those of your who reviewed because you've just all been so lovely and I probably wouldn't have considered trying another Dramione without your positive feedback. So...yeah...You guys are angels! (Hope everyone got their wings, halos and harps okay!)

There have been several of you that have reviewed pretty much every chapter from the start and you people have earned sainthood in my little metaphorical and personal heaven!

**Isolation **will be up shortly. It's post HBP and it's going to be a rather dark fic that's going to mess with out favourite couple's heads a lot. I fancy a challenge so I'll be toying with Muggle-born-hating Draco...Imagine him confined to a room under the Order's demand with a certain witch as his only companion. I know it sounds familiar and perhaps a little cliché but I assure you it's not. Just take my word for it...

For the time being I'd just really love to know your opinions on the my story and the ending...I hope it was okay! Nerves...

Thank you so much for reading! And reviewing! It's been an absolute pleasure! Once again...there's just no wat to express how grateful I am for having such lovely reviews for my first Dramione...

Let's take one second to thank our sponsors one last time...Cigarettes, energy drinks and, of course, the Wine!

Disclaimer: Nope...don't own a thing

If anyone wants to add me on my fanfiction facebook profile feel free. It's on my profile!


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